The homily for St. Michael & All Angels by The Reverend Andrea Budgey

 Once, when I was a child – I've forgotten how young – I found my bed made, and I was sure I hadn't done it myself: it was too neat, crisp and smooth, with hospital corners. I thanked my mother for doing it, and she denied having been anywhere near my bed that morning. Since no-one else in the house was a likely candidate, I decided that my guardian angel must have done it. I don't know where I got the idea, since we weren't a church-going family, and I'd never been exposed to Sunday-school, but apparently it made sense to me that an emanation of the presence of God would have come and sorted out this little domestic chore for me. I never worked out what had actually happened, but it must be said that it never happened again.

I was reminded of this rather embarrassing childhood episode occasionally when I was working at the Anglican Book Centre, and we would get in popular books about angels. We’d hope that there might be something about angels in scripture and history, but almost everything in that line was about getting the most out of angels – harnessing their power, if you like – for fun and profit, especially your own personal guardian angel.

Now it's true that the tradition of guardian angels – one assigned to every human being – can be said to have roots in scripture, and I think we may all have had moments of feeling inexplicably watched over, or cared for, and whether you ascribe that protection to a personal angelic guardian or directly to God probably depends on your own cultural conditioning and temperament. But really, to “domesticate” angels is to miss several important points. In Hebrew, the word for angel is malakh, “something or someone sent”; the Greek is aggelos, a herald, or messenger. An angel, then, is a messenger of God, or, in some interpretations, an emanation of the divine Will. The angels whom Jacob sees ascending and descending the ladder, in our first reading, are passing, in a very literal way, between heaven and earth, signifying communication between God and humanity, a point of contact between the visible and invisible, the known and the mysterious. That’s what we, like Jacob, desire from God (or think we do): knowing the limitations of our understanding, the gulf which seems to lie between us and perfection, is one of the great frustrations of being human, and the angelic visitations of scripture are a sign that the barrier is not completely impassable – at least in one direction.

The promise Jesus makes to Nathaniel echoes this earlier story, but now it locates the medium of communication precisely in his own person – he has become the ladder by which God descends to be with us, and upon which we are summoned to ascend to God. He joins himself to our human life, so that we can be drawn into the divine life. In both of these stories, there is a promise made to an individual, but its ramifications are far greater than that individual's own comfort or instruction. The promise is made to generations yet to come, and the individual is drawn into the fulfilment of that promise as part of a greater community – Nathaniel's promised vision is not for himself alone, any more than Jacob's was. Think of other great angelic visions in scripture – Ezekiel and the wheel, for example, or Gabriel's visits to Zechariah, to Mary, and to Joseph – in each case, an individual is commissioned to be something more than him- or herself, and to manifest God's power and God's love for others.

In some ways, the whole book of Revelation – bizarre as it is – presents us with a highly complex and elaborated version of that same sort of vision. What John describes is a huge metaphor for the Incarnation of God as a human being, with promises of God's ultimate triumph over evil, and John’s own commissioning to reveal this good news to others. One of the centrepieces of the vision is the battle between Michael and Satan, which we heard in our second reading. Probably because of the way he experienced conflict in his own life, John presents this cosmic struggle in terms of a human war – an instrusion of human violence into the kingdom of heaven. If you read carefully, though, you'll see that most of the detailed imagery we have associated with the conflict in art – weapons, armour, and details of the combat – is supplied from our own imaginations, and from a lifetime of seeing images of Michael with a spear or a sword, casting down the serpent; Milton’s account of celestial warfare coloured by his own experience of Civil War... Elsewhere in the Book of Revelation, John praises the non-violent resistance of the martyrs, and this re-echoing of Christ’s self-offering is of far greater consequence in the triumph of love over evil than any feats of arms, however cosmically irresistible they might appear. It is possible to imagine other, less crudely obvious, forms which the triumph of the angels of God might take, and it's up to our own prayerful imaginations to find them and make them known in the world's search for peace.

Prayerful imagination is also what we are called to use in our own lives, as individuals and as communities. And as we strive to discern, to discover the will of God for us, it's worth remembering something about encounters with angels, the messengers of God. First, we need to be open to hearing the voice of God, in ways less literal, more subtle, more discreet, more intimate, and also more prosaic, than the sudden appearance of a radiant being with a twelve-foot wingspan (although not, perhaps, as prosaic as I imagined as a child). Second, we have to remember that we don’t seek divine guidance just as individuals: like Jacob, we are part of a living inheritance; like Nathanael, we are part of a community, part of the Body of Christ. Finally, we already have an experience of God coming to meet us, week by week, in Word, and prayer, and sacrament – God comes to us, speaks to us, and feeds us, providing the angelic ladder on which we may also ascend into his risen and glorious life. Therefore with angels and with archangels, and with all the whole company of heaven, we laud and magnify God’s holy name, looking with joy and hope to the kingdom which lies before us, in whose building we are called to share. Amen.

The current Humphrys Chaplain to the University of Trinity College and the Saint George campus of the

The Reverend Andrea Budgey

University of Toronto is the Rev'd Andrea Budgey.

Ms. Budgey completed both an M Mus (performance: oboe) and an MA (medieval studies: Celtic languages and literature, music) at the University of Toronto, and in 2006 obtained her M Div from Trinity College. She was ordained priest in January of 2008, and was Assistant Curate at Saint Simon-the-Apostle in Toronto until the end of that year, continuing to serve as honorary assistant, and later as interim priest-in-charge; she is currently an honorary assistant at the parish of Saint Stephen-in-the-Fields, close to campus. She has been involved in community outreach and advocacy for a number of years, and retains a strong interest in ecumenical and interfaith work; she welcomes constructive engagement with both seekers and skeptics. She is also advisory board chair of the University of Toronto unit of the Student Christian Movement. As a member and co-founder of the SINE NOMINE Ensemble for Medieval Music, she sings and plays harp, fiddle, recorder, and percussion, and has directed a number of medieval liturgical reconstructions. She has been an instructor (in Celtic Studies, music, and English) for Saint Michael's College, the School of Continuing Studies, the Faculty of Music, and the Scarborough campus of the University of Toronto, a freelance writer and researcher, bookseller, and calligrapher, and has also worked in radio music production and concert management.

The Homily preached by Sister Elizabeth on the occasion of Sister Rhonda's First Profession, September 25, 2013

Homily — Sr. Rhonda’s First Profession — September 25, 2013

Today is a very special day in the life of Sr. Rhonda and of this Community; it is also the Feast of St. Sergius whom, until this past week, I knew nothing about except that he had been an Abbot and founder of a religious community in the 14^th Century. I’d like to share a little of what I have learned about St. Sergius.

According to one author St. Sergius is the most loved of all the Russian saints, 2^nd only to the Virgin Mary, especially in Northern Russia. In another book I read, he is described as a ‘peasant saint’ (in character if not by origin) — simple, humble, grave, gentle and neighbourly. [These words might describe Rhonda except for the word “grave”; her joy has a tendency to bubble up to the surface in giggles or gentle laughter, especially when doing exercises in the therapeutic pool at St. John’s Rehab. The last few week or so she’s had difficulty keeping her feet on the ground.] St. Sergius has been compared to St. Francis in his love of nature, a rather wild kind of nature compared to that of Italy. There is a story, perhaps apocryphal, that he once fed his last piece of bread to a bear who was hungry, and thereafter he and the bear became friends.

St. Sergius lived during the time when Russia was occupied by the Mongol Tartars; he and his parents & brothers were driven from their home in Moscow so they moved into the forest north of Moscow and started farming there. After his parents’ death, Sergius, at the age of 20, went deeper into the forest about 45 miles NE of Moscow to seek spiritual solitude. He convinced his older brother Stefan to join him and together they built their individual cells and a small chapel. [According to Jane deVyver,] “he lived a very austere ascetic life, marked by extreme poverty, hard physical labor, and profound humility and simplicity.” This was too much for Stefan who returned to the monastery where he had been living before joining Sergius. For some years Sergius lived a solitary and extremely austere life, keeping long vigils in his tiny chapel. However, as so often happens with hermits or mystics who try to live a solitary life, others learned of this holy man, were attracted by his life, and began making their own cells close by. By 1354 a number of other monks were living the communal life with Sergius although they soon learned that living the communal life was much more difficult than living as hermits. It was only the selfless conduct of St. Sergius that held them together. Thus began the monastery of the Holy Trinity — to whom Sergius was devoted — the first of approx. 40 monasteries founded by him and his disciples, “in the most impracticable places”.

Sergius was perhaps best known for his humility. He only became a priest and abbot of his community after continued persuasion by his monks and much later when the Metropolitan of Moscow & principal bishop of the Russian Church asked him to be his successor, he flatly refused saying: “Who am I but a sinner and the least of men.”Sometime after the death of St. Sergius, his original wooden church of the Holy Trinity burnt down and was replaced in 1422 by a white stone church for which Andrei Rublev did much of the iconographic work, including his most famous Holy Trinity icon which you see in front of the altar.

The readings for today were well chosen for St. Sergius. The first reading from Sirach talks about seeking wisdom, rising early to seek the Lord, opening one’s mouth in prayer and asking pardon for one’s sins. These are important qualities for all monastics — well, some might disagree with me about “rising early” to seek the Lord but Sr. Rhonda is an early riser. What is true is that as Sisters, prayer is our primary vocation. We believe that our ministry must be upheld, informed and permeated by prayer. The most essential aspect of our daily personal prayer is listening, opening ourselves to God to discern God’s will for us both individually and corporately. Prayer is not intended to make us feel comfortable (although there will be times of consolation). Prayer is meant to challenge us and open us to God’s transforming love and, as you know, being transformed is not comfortable. As monastics, we keep trying to open ourselves to what God is calling us to be in the depths of our being. Discernment never ends. Today God might be challenging me to be more patient or more understand- ing; tomorrow something may happen which is challenging me to be more forgiving, and next month I may feel called to let go of resentment or of controlling others or of some other weakness God has uncovered in me.

The desire for wisdom and a deeper relationship with God involves journeying more deeply into ourselves — seeking the true Self which God created us to be without any of the masks we’ve all learned to wear to protect ourselves from being hurt by others. We have no idea where that journey is going to take us. Just as St. Sergius moved out into the deep forest 45 miles NE of Moscow to seek God and found an area of wilderness, extreme poverty, and frightening creatures, so when we seek a deeper relationship with God and with ourselves, we too may find wilderness, inner poverty, and demons that we would rather run away from. But the only way to deal with those inner demons or fears is to face them in a safe place.

We may feel inadequate, believing that we have nothing to give: “Why would God call me to this life?” We will definitely be challenged by the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, in different ways at different times. Poverty will mean something different to each one us. Is it giving up my freedom to travel or to buy a Starbucks coffee whenever I feel like it or to take someone out for a meal? Am I ready to give up a one-on-one relationship with someone and thus be open to “to love the world for the sake of Christ”. Am I willing to be obedient to the needs of my Sisters and to the leadership of this community, especially when I’d prefer to do something my own way. It is easy to see the vows only from a negative point of view, but the vows also free us to be the people God is calling us to be and to use our gifts to serve others and one another.

For the last few weeks I’ve been reading a book entitled The Emergent Christ by Ilia Delio. In her chapter entitled “the Inner Universe” she writes about the poverty of being:

“Poverty is not so much about want or need; it is about relationship. Poverty impels us to reflect on our lives from the position of weakness, dependency, and vulnerability. It impels us to empty our pockets—not of money—but the pockets of our hearts, minds, wills—those places where we store up things for ourselves and isolate ourselves from real relationship with others. Poverty calls us to be vulnerable, open, and receptive to others, to allow others into our lives, and to be free enough to enter into the lives of others.” (p. 124)

“On the level of human relationships poverty allows us to be open to one another, to receive and share with one another. Poverty is the basis of personhood because it involves kenosis or self-emptying. Only care for one another truly humanizes life.” (p. 126)

This is what each of us is called to as Christians and it is seldom easy. In Ps 34 appointed for today, the psalmist says, “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth” (vs 1) and (vs 4), “I sought the Lord and he answered me and delivered me from my fears.” St. Sergius was first and foremost a man of prayer; that is what attracted others to join him. And prayer is about relationship — relationship with God — which in turn enables one to have good relationships with others. The essence of prayer and love is “presence”, that is, taking time to be fully present to God or to

whomever we are with. It’s about seeking to uplift others and draw the best out of them. Love does not worry about success but about being the best one can be. This is a challenge in whatever work one does and it is the challenge Sr. Rhonda experiences on a daily basis in her ministry in the Guest House. Some days, when everything is going well it may seem easy. But there will be other times when someone is being demanding or critical or a pain in the neck. Then, all she or we can offer is loving, compassionate presence.

The Gospel reading for today sums up the Christian life and the life of a monastic: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Sr. Rhonda has found her treasure in seeking this deeper relationship with God and offering herself to God through service to God’s people; God has responded by giving her “more than she can ask or imagine”. May God bless you, Rhonda, as you continue your journey in the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine.

Sermon from Sunday September 1st, preached by Sister Debra

Let us pray, gracious God may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight for you are our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

“For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves

Sister Debra

will be exalted.” The fact that this text appears with little difference at least ten times in the gospels suggests how deeply ingrained it must have been with-in the heart of the leaders and people of the early church. Without a doubt this would have been a constant theme in the teaching and preaching of Christ. It also would have been as revolutionary an idea in Jesus day as it is in ours.

We live in a world where personal achievement is what people strive for. We live in a world where people are rewarded for making it to the top and where getting to the top by any possible means, regardless of how one might do it and who one might step on, on the way, is not only tolerated, it is often encouraged. We live in a world where those who exalt them-selves are habitually rewarded and those who humble themselves are frequently either dismissed, pitied or viewed as objectionable.

In our gospel reading this world view is turned on it head. This morning we are reminded that those for whom the world would dismiss pity and openly ignore are the very ones whom our Lord teaches will be exalted ---- and subsequently the individuals who have power and see themselves as being entitled to the riches of the kingdom will be the ones who are humbled. It seems that a prominent theme for today is pride and humility.

All of our readings today follow this theme. Pride in Jeremiah might be understood as our insistence on digging broken cisterns for ourselves. Instead of looking to the wisdom of God in all circumstances we look to God when we are in trouble. When things are going well the temptation to rely on our own ideas and imaginings is more than we can resist and we give into it. That is, until the next crisis. So the cisterns we create for ourselves are broken. We need God in order to be whole.

In St. Paul’s letter to the Hebrews we are challenged to consider that true humility consists of a selflessness on behalf of others that is based in the eternal self-giving nature of Christ. We listen again to these familiar sayings, “Remember to show hospitality. There are some who, by so doing have entertained angels without knowing it.” Be content with what you have; for God has said, “I will never leave you or desert you; and so we can take courage and say, ‘The Lord is my helper, I will not fear.’ Finally, Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever, so do not be swept off your course.”

Do not be swept off your course? I believe I was swept a little off my course when I was preparing this meditation for today. Humility is a difficult attribute to talk about. Mother Teresa said, “If you are humble, nothing will touch you, neither praise nor disgrace because you know what you are.” One of the challenges that I have been faced with as a Sister of St. John the Divine is discovering who I am. I am learning that as I discover who I am, that is the person God has created me to be, the need to rely on others opinions about who I am is lessening. It may be that there is a relationship between ones sense of personal internal security and pride and humility. I need to think more about this.

I believe that what Mother Teresa was talking about and what Jesus is encouraging us to imitate can be observed in the following story. Robert Roberts writes about a fourth grade class in which the teacher introduced a game called "balloon stomp." A balloon was tied to every child's leg, and the object of the game was to pop everyone else's balloon while protecting one's own. The last person with an intact balloon would win.
The fourth graders in Roberts' story entered into the spirit of the game with vigor. Balloons were persistently targeted and destroyed. A few of the children sought refuge in the corners and on the sidelines, but their balloons were eventually stomped just the same. The entire battle was over in a matter of seconds, leaving only one balloon inflated. Its owner was, of course, the most disliked kid in the class. It's hard to really win at a game like balloon stomp. In order to complete your mission, you have to be pushy, rude and offensive.
Roberts went on to write that a second class was introduced to the same game. Only this time it was a class of mentally challenged children. They were given the same explanation as the first class, and the signal to begin was given. But the game proceeded very differently. You see the only idea that seemed to get through was that the balloons were supposed to be popped. So it was the balloons, not the other players that were viewed as the enemy. Instead of fighting each other, the children began helping each other pop balloons. One little girl knelt down and held her balloon carefully in place, like a holder for a field goal kicker. While another little boy stomped it flat. Then he knelt down and held his balloon for her. It went on like this for several minutes until all the balloons were vanquished, and everybody cheered. Everybody won.
So often in our world, we tend to think of another person's success as one less opportunity for us to succeed. I know I have been guilty of thinking this way. There can only be one king or queen of the castle. Jesus encourages us not think in terms of winners and losers. Jesus encourages us to think about the person whom we are dealing with. We are to look for the best in everyone. Doing this is not a simple feel good activity. It is also not an easy thing to do. We seem to be wired with tendencies toward unhealthy competitiveness.

Jesus invites us to adopt a perspective that encourages us to think about one another and live with one another in ways that are life giving and life promoting. This way of thinking inspires us to look for the good in all we meet and in every situation. This kind of thinking when we act upon it can be as freeing as it is life changing, both for us and for all whom we encounter.

I would like to conclude with a prayer that was found in the pocket of a child’s coat discovered during the liberation of Ravensbruck concentration camp. Ravensbruck was a Nazis concentration camp built in 1939 where over 90,000 women and children were murdered. The prayer that was found says:
O Lord, remember not only the men and woman of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all of the suffering they have inflicted upon us: Instead remember the fruits we have borne because of this suffering, our fellowship, our loyalty to one another, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown from this trouble. When our persecutors come to be judged by you, let all of these fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.

May the generosity and grace of God guide and direct each one of us as we consider the place of pride and humility in our own lives. May we remember to show hospitality to all whom we encounter not only because of who we might be entertaining without knowing it but because as followers of Christ this is our first inclination. Amen.

Homily by Sr. Debra, August 18, 2013

Readings: Is. 5:1-7; Ps. 80:1-2, 8-19; Heb. 11:29 – 12:2; Lu. 12:49-56

Sr. Debra 

This morning I am going to reflect upon one verse in our gospel reading. I have used this gospel reading this week in my lectio. This is the verse that I was drawn to over and over again. Jesus said, “Do you think that I came to bring peace to the earth?”

I don't know about you, but I was sure hoping that Jesus came to bring peace to the earth. In fact Jesus did bring peace to the earth. In order for our Lord’s peace to have an effect however, the peace offered needs to be acknowledged, accepted and received. This is not something that just happens once and we’ve got it for all time. I believe that it is important that we ask for Christ’s peace on a regular basis. Sometimes several times in the day. I admit that for sometime now I have forgotten that. Even though we say it daily, I had not taken it in.

In the message translation, Peterson translates this verse with these words, “Do you think I came to smooth things over and make everything nice? Not so. I have come to disrupt and confront.” While I don't find Peterson’s interpretation of this passage much more comforting than the NRSV I do find it more understandable. I learned a long time ago that keeping peace for the sake of keeping peace, ultimately does not lead to peace. In fact this stance, often produces the opposite effect, greater turmoil.

No where is this better understood than with family members and friends of substance abusers. Those addicts who have kept their sobriety have had family members and friends who realized that 'keeping the peace for the sake of keeping the peace often lead both to further substance abuse and relationships that were codependent'. Subsequently the very loved ones who hoped they were helping and protecting the one in trouble were in fact enabling the destructive behavior to continue.

Maintaining the status-quo rarely leads to change when change is what is required. Sometimes it is both necessary and vital to ones health to disrupt and confront. Often the sooner this can happen, the soon­er effective healing can begin. I believe that this is what Jesus was getting at in our gospel reading today.

Having said this, I don’t want to give the impression that everyone should just run out and challenge and confront, willy nilly as a way of effecting change. In order for one to attain the desired life changing outcome, 'confrontation and disruption' takes a lot of genuine empathy and love as well as well thought out strategic planning. Jesus is our best example of how to do this.

Jesus challenged different people at different times. He called different people to accountability for their actions or inaction at different times and in different ways. He used stories and examples that the people he was talking to could relate to. He gave those who came to him and those waiting on the fringes all they needed in order to choose. In the end he also knew that the peace he offered could not and would not come about through force. It had to be by individual free choice.

I have to tell you, this whole issue of individual free choice has been a bit of a problem for me. I think if I had been standing in the crowd and Jesus said, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?” In my own desperation for peace in the world and in my desire for those I love also to have Christ's peace, a peace I have known, I might have been bold enough to yell out, “Yes Lord! I thought you came to bring peace, and frankly I need you to have come to bring peace yesterday!”

I expect Jesus might have responded to me compassionately and probably with some firmness, with another question. “Do you know the kind of peace I am talking about for yourself?” “Do you have this peace?” Actually I am pretty sure Jesus would have asked this question of me.

I don't believe we can offer to others what we ourselves either have forgotten or don't yet have. Earlier this week I was recalling a personal incident that may be a good example of what I am getting at. When my twin sister Denise and I turned 40 we decided to take a trip to Disney World in Florida. It was not until we were boarding the airplane that I realized that Denise had never flown before. She looked terrified. What I suspected was confirmed when the stewardess was going over the pre-flight safety instructions. I actually thought Denise might get out and walk when the stewardess spoke about what to do in the case of a water landing. The illustration I am getting at came when the stewardess said, “In case of a drop of air pressure in the cabin masks will be released, put your own mask on first before you try to assist someone else.” I realized that I would first need to look after myself by putting on my own mask if I had any hope of helping Denise put on hers. We were fortunate, the flight both there and back was smooth.

I believe that we are invited daily to acknowledge, accept and receive Christ’s peace. I believe that individual acceptance of Christ's peace will be the forerunner to any kind of world peace. Sometimes we are so frightened, disillusioned and angered by what we see happening in the world around us or by what has happened in our own lives that we fail to pay attention to what God is trying to do within us. If we don’t have peace within we will have a difficult time showing the peace of Christ to others.

I believe this inner gift of Christ’s peace was what that the great cloud of witnesses spoken about in our Epistle reading had. D.L. Moody said, “A great many people are trying to make peace, but that has already been done. God has not left it for us to do; all we have to do is enter into it.”

I believe that this is the one thing that the great cloud of witnesses had in common, they individually had entered into the peace of Christ. It was from their personal acceptance of this peace that they wereable to do the incredible things they did and were able to endure the situations they witnessed. So

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with per severance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfect­er of our faith. May Christ's peace enfold us, all dear to us and all who have no peace. Amen.

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

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 

Homily for St Francis de Sales celebration

Francis de Sales was a seventeenth century bishop and spiritual teacher in Geneva. He taught that a life of prayer, or what we might call a spiritual practice, is important for all Christians, not just for the clothed religious or ordained clergy, but that each one’s devotions should be appropriate for the individual’s life circumstances. The life of prayer of a married woman with children, for example, would be different from that of a professed nun, just as the prayer of a labourer would be different from that of a priest. But each should have his or her own practice of prayer.

He used the metaphor of a bee gathering nectar: the bee goes to the flowers, but doesn’t damage them in the process, and similarly a person’s spiritual life should not be harmful to daily life, but enhance it. Like a jewel dipped in honey so that its colours shine brighter, so our daily life can be sanctified and sweetened by our prayer and devotion.

De Sales taught a form of meditation that starts with reflection on a Biblical theme, and then relates it to daily life in order to ground it. At the end of the period of meditation a resolution is to be made, so that some change – even a small one – takes place in the life of the one praying. The last step is to “make a little nosegay” (bunch of flowers) from the fruits of the meditation, to take into the rest of the day and revisit often, for refreshment.

What little nosegay can we take from today’s readings about wisdom, saltiness and light? May I offer a reflection from the Franciscan Richard Rohr:

“Wisdom is the freedom to be truly present to what is right in front of you…. People who are fully present know how to see fully, rightly, and truthfully. Presence is the one thing necessary for wisdom, and in many ways, it is the hardest thing of all. Just try to keep 1) your heart space open, 2) your mind without division or resistance, and 3) your body not somewhere else—and all at the same time!”

 [From The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See, pp. 59-60]

This attentive presence, this wisdom, is prayer.

In your times of silent reflection on the word of God, let this wisdom of attentive presence honey-glaze your daily life. Make a little nosegay to take with you. And know that this is prayer. 

SSJD Lucy Reid, priest-in-charge, St Aidan’s, Toronto

Sr. Debra's homily for St. John's Day (December 27, 2011)

From the cradle to the grave and beyond; from Christmastide through Epiphany to Lent and Easter; from the Incarnation to the Resurrection. On this the ‘Feast of St. John the Divine’, in Christmastide, we are invited among other things to reflect upon the journeys of lifetimes and the effect and significance those journeys have upon us as a Community. Our Lord Jesus, St. John, Mother Hannah — Each of our journeys separate, yet together.

Just a couple of days ago we found ourselves singing at the stable and today with John, we find ourselves standing at the entrance to the empty tomb gazing in wonder and expectancy. Like John we see and we believe. Like John what we see is more than the folded grave clothes and what we have come to believe is more than the empty tomb.

As I continue in my own spiritual journey I am interested in hearing how others have moved from one embraced understanding of God’s presence in their lives and in our world to another. For example, how did St. John move from being nicknamed by our Lord as one of the Sons of Thunder to being identified by Christ as the Apostle of Love. It seems to me that is a pretty big leap, especially if we look at some of the details of John’s early life and discipleship. Likewise how did Mother Hannah move from being a grieving widow to founding this Community of St. John the Divine.

For us as individuals and as members of this Sisterhood, it has been a long journey from a renovated stable on Robinson Street to this beautiful convent on Cummer Avenue. Likewise, it has been a long journey for [many] each of us from where we have been to where we presently are. On the day of our Patronal Festival, it is fitting that we take time to reflect. As someone reminded me recently, it is only in remembering where we have come from that we are able to appreciate the distance we have gone. In looking back we are able to acknowledge those who have been part of our formation along the way.

Personally speaking I was interested in exploring the relationship [as presented in our name, “The Sisterhood of St. John the Divine.”] between St. John the Divine, Mother Hannah, and this present community. At a glance the answer to this musing may seem obvious — we like St. John wish to be ‘Apostles of Love’ — or as G.H. Houghton put it in his letter of September 4, 1884, to Sr. Hannah:

“May the name which your Sisterhood is to bear be an indication of the Love which is to pervade and animate it; that all the members are indeed in a very special sense, ‘beloved of the Beloved’; are every mindful of the words, ‘Little children, love one another’; and that the things and thoughts and aims heavenly, are things and thoughts to which they are given.” (81 Memoir)

At a glance the answer to this musing may seem obvious: we are a religious community and we are supposed to be loving. Some assume that by virtue of our title and where we live, we are naturally H-O-L-Y, holy. In truth we don’t come to this place H-O-L-Y, holy; we come WHOLLY, filled with all manner of wholes that need Divine attention. We learn to love because we come to realize that God first loved us. When we realize this for ourselves we want to share it with others.

The relationship between St. John, Mother Hannah and this community is that we all share in a brokenness that has been transformed and continues to be transformed through the resurrecting touch of Christ. The relationship that we share in and that may be observed in the transformation which takes place in our lives and work, is a direct result of the intentional individual and corporate relationship we have with Christ through prayer and service.

While John was given a privileged place with Christ as part of his inner circle of three, he like us like Mother Hannah was very ‘human’. Remember, this is the same John who was jealous and resented what he perceived as competition from rival miracle workers. This is the same John who insisted on the best seat in the kingdom of heaven for himself. This is the same John who when he saw Jesus being rejected by a village of Samaritans asked, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (Lord, if they are not for us, let’s wipe them out.) Jesus rebuked John as he had earlier rebuked Peter.

Somewhere in John’s journeying with Jesus, however, the thunderclouds broke and this Son of Thunder was transformed into the Apostle of Love whose name and devotion to Christ we, as a community, strive to emulate. So, when did it happen? When did this change in John occur? Was it as he watched our Lord being transfigured on the mountain? Was it at the raising of Jarius’ daughter from the dead or may as he waited sleeping in the Garden of Gethsemane? Could it have taken place as he stood with Mary at the foot of the cross? We don’t know. We often don’t know when and where the specific changes in our attitudes and ways of being take place. What we do know is a change has occurred. What we believe as members of the body of Christ is that God’s transforming love in Christ Jesus by the power of the Holy Spirit working in us has everything to do with the change.

Mother Hannah’s life and work is a testament to the faith and belief she had in the power of God to change the circumstances of the needy whom she served. Her faith and belief that God would provide through the generosity of others supporting her work in Christ is a faith and belief we continue to share today. It would not be possible for us to carry on the work we have been called to do in this place without the generous support and dedication to this ministry that is so freely given by our Anglican Church here in Canada and specifically by our Oblates, Associates, staff, volunteers, friends and partners [benefactors] in the religious life. Thank you!

Just as St. John faced the challenges of forming the early church in his time and Mother Hannah bore the challenge of beginning the only Sisterhood of its kind in her native land in her time, so we also bear the challenge of ministering in our time. We are not a new church and we are not a newly formed community. Our challenge is to spread an old gospel in a new way to a world that is largely indifferent to the message. The challenge for the ministry that we live with as a Sisterhood and members of the Anglican Church of Canada requires no less effort, persistence, faith and belief in our Lord’s sustaining presence than it did of St. John or Mother Hannah.

The evidence of Christ’s ever-present, sustaining devotion to us and with us in this ministry is sure!
Although three of our Sisters — Sr. Helena, Sr. Thelma-Anne and Sr. Madeleine Mary — were received back into the loving arms of our creator God this year, four new seekers have come to test their vocation in SSJD. In serving with you, we also participate in carrying out the mission and ministry of this household that was begun 127 years ago; as we learn the rule, the traditions and the ministry, we are finding our call alongside your call. At our Annual Chapter in August, each Sister reaffirmed her call to serve our Lord in this place through serving “the World God Loves” thus setting an example to us of your faith and devotion as the “beloved of the Beloved”.

As a Sisterhood, we confident that our Lord is leading us into new ventures in ministry even as we are being invited to embrace new partnerships. We continually pray for direction and the wise discernment necessary to follow our Lord in faith to the places to which we are being called. We are up to the challenge.

Finally I leave you with this quotation from Philip Yancey:

“The people of God are not merely to mark time, waiting for God to step and set right all that is wrong. Rather they are to make the new heaven and the new earth and by so doing awaken longing for what God will some day bring to pass.”

May we by the grace of God offer a glimpse of the kingdom to this world through our lives and our
service that have been transformed and continue to be transformed by God’s love. Amen.

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)

Homily for Sr. Helena's Funeral

Isaiah 24.6-9 
Psalm 139.1-16 1
John 3.1-2 
Luke 24.13-16, 28-35


 “Walk slowly, look holy.” 


 This was the maxim that Sr. Helena taught all of us to live by – especially those of us who were trained by her in work of the sacristy and chapel. She herself was calm, contemplative, serene and gentle in her approach to chapel work, and she taught us, too, not to take ourselves too seriously – to remember that everything we did was for God. And because God’s love is unconditional, our worship would not be spoiled in any way if we made a mistake. 


 I remember one time when the chapel was set up for our Saturday evening Vigil of the Resurrection, with the water pitcher on the little table next to the baptismal font, ready for the Thanksgiving over the Water. The sister who was appointed to say the thanksgiving prayer that night picked up the pitcher and realized there was no water in it, and Sr. Helena herself realized it in a wink. But rather than jumping up, as some of us might, and running over to the font with a worried expression on her face, she did it all in a typically Helena way – got up from her choir stall, acknowledged the altar, walked contemplatively over to the font, picked up the pitcher, walked contemplatively out to the sacristy, turned on the water, filled the pitcher, turned off the water, walked back in, acknowledged the altar, brought it to the sister waiting to pour the water and say the prayer. The sisters knew what happened (and some might have chuckled under their breaths) but for the guests, it could easily have seemed to be a planned part of the ceremonial. 


This was Sr. Helena’s way of life. Whatever happened, God was there in the midst of it, blessing her, blessing everyone. We are “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as the psalm says. “God formed our inward parts and knit us together in our mother’s womb” – so how could God possibly get upset over something as trivial as forgetting to put water in the ewer! 


Walk slowly, look holy. 


She never meant “look holy” to mean look religious or pious. She meant look like you are a beloved child of God. Don’t rush, don’t fret, don’t worry. Live the liturgy as it’s meant to be lived, with joy and peace. Walk through life with serenity and delight, relishing the love which God pours out on us.


 That is what the two disciples in the gospel narrative discover. They are grieving. They have lost their leader, they are going to Emmaus as though the cause has failed, back to their families and the occupations they were engaged in before they met Jesus. They are walking slowly but looking worried and distressed rather than holy. 


When Jesus meets them on the road, he engages with them as a teacher, explaining to them the passages in the Hebrew Scriptures that relate to him. But it is not until they are at table together, and he breaks the bread, that they recognize him for who he truly is. Then they return to Jerusalem to share the good news the other disciples.


The Emmaus story is a reflection of Helena’s life in community. She knew who Jesus was, she had been a faithful Christian for many years before joining the Sisterhood. But it was in community – around this table as we broke bread together, around the Refectory table at silent or talking meals, and in our common life – that she grew in knowledge of Jesus as the lover of souls, and in herself as God’s beloved. She was a strong contemplative, and needed lots of private time and space to keep her sane and to nurture her relationship with God. But she was also a social person, and like the disciples returning from Emmaus to Jerusalem, she couldn’t help but share her ever-deepening experience of God’s love with other. 


She talked to people and encouraged them in their spiritual quests. She ministered to peoples’ physical and spiritual needs. In her community life Sr. Helena worked in almost every house of the Sisterhood and most departments. It was a natural outgrowth of the life she lived before community. She had worked as a commercial artist, in the Civil service, and in the Canadian Women’s Army Corps during World War II. When she arrived on the Convent doorstep after the war, she said she was looking for two things that came out of her previous experience, and I quote her: I wanted “to live closer to God, and to help to prevent World War III from taking place.” In that dual call is summed up Sr. Helena’s desire to bring harmony to human life and the cosmos. It was her unique method of evangelism.


One thing I remember most about her ministering God’s love to people was the Bible studies she use to lead on Friday evenings for guests who came to stay at the Convent for the weekend. When I used to drive up to Willowdale with my friends from Detroit in the 1970s this was one of things we most looked forward to. After supper on Friday night, she would invite whoever wanted to come to join her in the Holy Spirit Chapel. We would read the gospel reading for the following Sunday, and she would lead us in a unique exploration, touching on topics I had never heard of – the cosmic Christ, the oneness of all of us in God, our coinherence in God and God in us – and also topics I had heard of but never grasped in depth before – the unconditional love of God, the unique value of each person God created, and the beauty of God’s Word in scripture. 


She loved scripture, and she prayed faithfully and earnestly for the Bible society throughout the world. She learned about new translations in languages I had never heard of. In recent years, when her blindness became severe, her wonderful friend Blossom would read the daily entries from the Bible society booklet to her and Helena would memorize them and pray for them in the intercessions each day at the Eucharist. 


Jesus was known to her in the breaking of bread, in community, in the breaking open of the scripture, and most of all in her own contemplative prayer. 


She loved Teilhard de Chardin, Thomas Merton, John of the Cross and especially John the beloved disciple. She prayed with her soul, her mind and her body – we all will remember her unique, absolutely faithful brand of Tai Chi. Perhaps nowhere was walking slowly and looking holy more evident than when she was out on the lawn in St. Lambert or Botham Road – or here in the Sisters’ courtyard, doing her own ballerina interpretation of Tai Chi. 


Her holistic spirituality can best be expressed through something she herself said – this is an excerpt from her response to the wonderful toast that Sr. Thelma-Anne gave at her 50th profession anniversary. 

“Whatever measure we may – and should – take to promote human harmony, the one underlying absolute essential is the transforming presence of God in the inmost depths of the human consciousness, at the deepest root that is the gut source of human behaviour. This is no quick fix. Ask any gardener, even, or physiotherapist, or psychotherapist. But the whole power of God is behind it, and in it, and working through it. The inner consciousness of the whole created universe is one – in Christ – in God – shattered by a mysterious and deadly alienation out of God, yet still an amazing internet – co-inherent, intercontingent, interactive, interdependent – and each of us a web site, opening the way for God into, or shutting God out of, the whole internet. A bit simplistic? Or is it? You and I, each one of us in our small corner of life, has the amazing privilege and awesome responsibility of choosing to live toward God, to join in creation’s love song to God, with God-in-us singing God’s Love Song to all creation.” 

Sr. Helena had a sense of wonder about everything – about the cosmos, about God, about the love which God pours out on us. And the wonder of this love gave Sr. Helena a confidence about the future which is summed up in the letter from John: 

See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. 

She saw this, I believe, most fully just a few days before she died. One day, Sr. Jessica heard her describing a vision of beautiful flowers – daffodils and many other – she described their lovely scent and colours. Another day Jessica heard Sr. Helena describing a vision of children – “they are so beautiful,” she said. She saw God’s love in nature, in people, in the vulnerable, including children. She looked forward to the future with joy, and I think this can best be summed up in something she wrote back in the 1980's. Sr. Frances Joyce had asked all the sisters to write up a short history of their lives in community. I want to read the end of Sr. Helena’s which I think sums up her hope for her own eternal life and her confidence in the fulfilment of God’s eternal purpose: 


She tells that just a few hours after she had typed up her history for Sr. Frances Joyce, a Godincident happened. Fr. Russell, preaching at the Sisters’ Sunday Eucharist, said (in Helena’s words), 

“that chronological time is ‘artificial’ – that real time is happenings and experiences, and quoted a philosopher who said that time is the progress of the soul. And that is what we are about, isn’t it? However, chronological time is necessary for synchronising us all, and establishing history. 

Her sense of God’s time, or kairos – what Fr. Russell called “real time” – is captured not only in the reading from John’s letter but also in Isaiah:

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. . . . It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God for whom we have waited. . . . let us be glad and rejoice in God’s salvation. 

Another banquet, another table. Like the disciples who saw Jesus when he broke the bread, Helena now sees God as God is, and she knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that she is loved completely, unconditionally. Much like our own discerning of God’s presence in the breaking of the Eucharistic bread,

As we give thanks for Helena’s life, may we too discern Christ in the breaking of bread at this table, and may we remember two important lessons from Sr. Helena – that it’s OK to walk slowly and contemplatively through life, and that it’s good to be holy – and wholly aware of how beloved we are of God.

Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD
April 14, 2011