God and Mammon

God and Mammon
 St. John’s Convent, November 8, 2014

Philippians 4:10-19  »  /   Psalm 112  »   /   Luke 16:9-15   » 

I sometimes feel that I should preach homilies that are more pastoral and less political. And then the lectionary goes and throws things like today's Gospel. Because really, one of the things we perhaps don't acknowledge often is that the Gospels are overall more political than they are pastoral; especially if we understand political in the larger sense, as being about the great questions of how we organize our common life. Besides which, I've recently been meeting with a national church task force trying to develop resources on the theology of money, so it's not a good day to try to dodge this challenge.

“You cannot serve God and wealth.” The old translation, “God and Mammon,” though a bit obscure, might actually take us closer to the meaning, because, by using the name of a minor Roman god of wealth, it makes it clear that what Jesus is talking about here is that core sin of idolatry. We may not consciously worship money, not quite – but we do, for the most part, allow money, the systems of finance, to govern our lives, to make our choices for us, to tell us the way in which we should go. I feel reasonably sure that the average Christian, and the average congregation, think and talk about money far, far more often than they think and talk about God. And in many – most? -- of our churches, a platter full of money sits on the altar through the eucharistic prayer, along with the bread and wine, along with the body and blood, and we think that this is a good thing.

But there is little point in blaming individuals. We are all enmeshed in a gigantic, global economic system from which there is very little possibility of escape. Every choice we make is made within the boundaries of an unjust economic order, built on debt and interest and speculation in imaginary wealth, built on cheap consumer goods and slave labour and hunger, built on an endlessly turning wheel of false desire and fear. I participate in it constantly and unconsciously by having money in banks which invest in socially and environmentally destructive projects, by buying a harmless cookie which contains palm oil, the production of which is devastating the rainforests. There is no easy way out.

We need to look back at that very weird bit at the beginning of the Gospel passage, though. I have no idea why the lectionary editors did this, but they've attached, at the start, a throwaway and obviously sardonic comment which Jesus uses to conclude one of his strangest parables, the story of the unjust steward, whose cleverly devious financial manoeuvres save his job and his life. The story, in fact, of someone trapped inside a system of injustice, compelled to play by the rules of injustice, who, for reasons which are not particularly good or worthy, finds himself undermining the system and accidentally driving it towards grace. He doesn't get out of the system; but he bends it a little, faithful – really entirely despite himself – in this little thing.

It would be better if we were a bit more consciously faithful. And we can be, to some degree, even while acknowledging our inescapable complicity. This Sisterhood is actually an outstanding example of the degrees of escape which are possible, a community which foresakes the principles of individual ownership and endless consumer desire upon which our system is built, a community built on a rethinking of human nature more radical than it may, on the surface, appear. And, because you are a community, you can do more than most individuals can to, say, generate some of your own electricity, reorganize your investments, all those things which you are doing. It is not very dramatic in the terms of the world, and it does not solve our great problem of being enmeshed in Mammon's world; but it is that little escape from idolatry which can let the rest of us know that some escape is possible.

Mammon isn't getting out of our lives, or our churches, any time very soon. But accepting that we can only be faithful in relatively little does not mean that we settle for being faithful in as little as possible. At the very least, those of us who are not part of this Sisterhood should be more mindful of the real and important challenge the Sisterhood poses to us. Pray, and choose, and renounce, and care. And allow ourselves, little by little, to be welcomed into that great community, before which all the values of the world fall down.

- Maggie Helwig

Visit SSJD website »  /  Flickr photo album »   /  Facebook » 

United Nations Day, 24 October 2014

HOMILY, UNITED NATIONS DAY
 St. John’s Convent, October 24, 2014

Micah 4:1-4  »  /   Psalm67 »   /  Luke1:26-33 » 

My heart was heavy when I read the passage from Micah in preparation for this homily. I wait – we all wait – with poignant longing for the peace of God that has been promised for so long. The end of the reading especially struck me this time: “they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.”

We are sitting here under the equivalent of our vines and fig trees – with the stunning beauty of autumn reflected in our trees and gardens – and yet I feel afraid – afraid for the world we live in, and guilty that we live in a place of relative peace. Both my fear and my guilt are heightened by the events of this past week, with the killing of Warrant Office Patrice Vincent in Quebec, and Corporal Nathan Cirillo at the National War Memorial in Ottawa yesterday – bringing the terrors of our world much closer to home.

But the readings today speak of neither fear nor guilt – both of these emotions are really useless, and the fear-mongering of some of the media just renders us more helpless. Fear and guilt make us blind to the purposes of God. They make it difficult to hear what God is really saying to us, as individuals and as a nation. And they play into the hands of terrorists whose strongest weapon is fear.

The readings today speak of very different feelings – feelings of hope, of obedience to the Word of God, and of trust in the purposes of God. They speak of good news, not bad news.

The last words of the reading from Micah remind us that the prophet is not just mouthing his own wishful thinking – he speaks the Word of God: “they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.” The mouth of the Lord – the Word of the Lord – instructs and teaches, judges and arbitrates. The prophet himself is speaking the Word. And the people are asked to do two things:

First, we are asked to “go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” We may not be able to change the thinking of those who believe that violence is the way of God. And we may have ineffective weapons against the insidious pull on young people through the internet and social media to a life of violence. We know that terrorism in the modern world is harder to confront than traditional war because it knows no national boundaries and can spread its darkness through the ether. But we have been promised that the light of Christ will never be overcome by the darkness. And we can allow our prayer to reach out to the darkest corners of the world with the love of God. People may not be streaming into the Lord’s house in our time in our society. But we are called to go anyway, to be faithful and obedient to the call of prayer.

And second, we are asked to listen to the Word, to allow ourselves to be instructed by God – “for out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.” What is it that each of us is called to do in order to spread peace on the earth and to cooperate with the purposes of God? God’s word may speak to each of us in the privacy of our hearts, calling us to reconciliation with those closest to us with whom we may be in conflict. And God’s word may speak to us as communities of Christians as well, to hear what we may do to promote healing and reconciliation around us locally. If we listen, we shall surely hear, and we shall be instructed.

And then the gospel reading today gives us our third mandate: After we have prayed and been instructed, we are to say the words that are left out of the appointed reading: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord: let it me with me according to your Word.”

The angel promises the same thing that the prophet Micah promises – both of them are prophets who speak the Word of God, and the words spoken to Mary are similar in many ways to those from Micah: “Do not be afraid”; “you will conceive and bear a son . . . God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David . . . and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

Mary would have had no clue what this might mean in concrete terms. She could not have imagined the suffering that would precede the resurrection. But she said “Yes” to the instruction of God.

May God give us the grace to go up to the House of God, to pray for the United Nations and all organizations and efforts that make for peace, to release our fear and guilt, and to live instead in hope and with obedience to the instruction of God.

- Sr. Constance Joanna SSJD

Visit SSJD website »  /  Flickr photo album »   /  Facebook » 

Homily preached by the Rev. Lucy Reid - October 19, 2014 on the ACPO weekend

Readings: Isaiah 45:1-7; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22

“Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s.”

Discernment. Are you tired of that word yet?  I don’t know how many times we’ve used it this weekend, and here it is again in the gospel: the imperative of being able to discern wisely between one thing and another.

Discernment isn’t necessary if something can be decided by a simple choice — whether to have toast or oatmeal or both; to put on this shirt or that.  But where the choice is not obvious and the outcome is significant, discernment is essential.

In the gospel, Jesus is saying that discernment is necessary between the claims of the emperor and the secular world and the claims of God and God’s kingdom. Where does our allegiance lie? Christian discipleship is incomplete without discernment.

This weekend we’ve been seeking to discern the leading of the Spirit, the call of God, in our lives. Assessors and candidates, Sisters and guests, we’re all in this discernment process one way or another. It’s an on-going part of the Christian life. One part of the discernment, in this particular ACPO context, is to identify a call to priestly ministry rather than to other forms of ministry — just as each of the sisters had to discern and test a call to the religious life, from among the many other Christian paths.

Discernment is about seeing clearly , and it demands openness, honesty, courage and vulnerability — the willingness to see through the clearest lens possible, and sometimes that lens is held up for us be someone else. Robbie Burns saw the precious value of that when he wrote in his poem, “To a Louse”:

O Wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae many a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion. . .”  (1786)

Or as translated into standard English:

And would some Power the small gift give us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notion:

You candidates have allowed yourselves to be seen by others and soon you’ll see what that looked like. I can understand your anxiety! I say again, the clear sightedness of discernment demands openness, honesty, courage and vulnerability. But it can free us from many a blunder and foolish notion.

There’s one more piece of good news, and it’s expressed in the epistle: “God has chosen you.”  Paul, Silvanus and Timothy are greeting the Christians in Thessalonika, but listen to these words as though they’re being spoken directly to you, because they are!

We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he has chosen you. . .  (1 Thess. 1:2-4)

You are here today because of “your work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.” You are beloved and chosen — whether you are called to priestly ministry or to another ministry. Do you believe that?  Can you trust it?  All of us, ordained or lay or religious; retired or just beginning; burning with faith or getting a little rusty; successful stars or hopeless failures — all of us are brothers and sisters beloved by God, and chosen by God. There’s nothing you can do to make that cease to be true. That’s how low grace sets the bar. You are eternally beloved and chosen, whether you recognize it and live into it or not.

Even Cyrus, the king of Persia, unbeknownst to himself, was chosen by God as the means by which the Jewish captivity under the Babylonians would end.

Listen again to what Isaiah writes:

“Thus says the Lord to his anointed, to Cyrus,
   whose right hand I have grasped. . .

I will go before you. . . .
I call you by your name,
  I surname you . . . .
I arm you, though you do not know me. . . .”

Imagine that! — being grasped by the hand and called by name to do something for God — even if you don’t know it. And what’s more God gives you a surname; God “surnamed” you. It’s a verb I hadn’t noticed before. And what is that surname? Beloved. Chosen. Precious. Mine.

The path of discerning God’s grace and call, active in the world and in you, is a constantly unfolding one. This ACPO weekend is part of a much larger process, a much longer journey.  There will be times of clarity and times when you have no idea what God is up to. Times when you feel you’re being wonderfully used by God and times when you feel utterly useless.  Take it from me; it’s true.

But the bottom line is this — God calls you by name, chooses you and loves you and God has work for you to do in this beautiful, broken world, through the grace and power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. May you discern, first and last, the truth of that.

Homily by the Rev. Joanne Davies, September 24, 2014

Readings: Proverbs 30:5-9; Ps 119:105-112; Luke 9:1-6

Looking at the readings for today, three verses would not leave me. No matter what else I sought to understand, to reflect upon, they kept insisting themselves upon me. And so, I surrendered. And took to heart a quote I love from Anne Johnston:
   
“Search out God's heart within each word of scripture, fill it full with your own loving and carry on from there.“

So my searching, my finding and my own loving is what I now share with you.

My three verses are…

"Shake the dust off your feet"  I hear: you may leave and know you do not have to take baggage,  yours nor anyone else's, neither spiritually nor bodily, with you.

"Give me neither poverty nor riches - feed me with the food that I need."  I want to be aware of life and not be buried by goods nor bereft of possibilities. The food that I need is both the food that is God and the food of God's creation.

"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path."   Always, with my deep gratitude.

Once upon a time I owned a house. Then I realised that the house was an unwanted weight in my life, slowing me and worrying me about flooring and chimneys and plumbing in such a single enclosed space that seemed to lock me in. I sold the house and moved out to a rented apartment.  I didn't even take half my belongings with me. And, I was relieved to give away all the stuff I had stored in the basement for so-called future needs. Moving 19 years ahead, I recently moved from a two bedroom apartment with a good sized storage room to a one bedroom apartment with no storage room. For me, the delightful freedom of having less — but as much as one needs — illuminates creation and makes my home, all that I can see in one turn around, a place of rest and comfort and not a weight or a distraction. Makes my home not the walls or the things but a place of sacred care…the food that I need.  

Having just the food I need also makes my home something that allows me to move on. To change. To discover. To journey. To be unencumbered to know God's presence on the path, without the weight of personal responsibility to walls.

And to journey in healing. Having just the food that I need opens up my life as a chaplain. Allows me to sit in the sadness and the pain and know God's presence and know God as forever joy  even in the sadness and pain. Having just the food that I need means I can leave my baggage and hear someone else's to help them leave it. Having just the food that I need means I can still be surprised and filled with wonder by my work.  And know God is lighting my path.

On Monday evening I was with a large family, children, siblings and parents, as they said goodbye to their loved one. He was dying, really only alive because of modern medicine's ability to keep a heart beating for awhile longer. The patient's son told the story of how he heard the news that the interventions in his father's life were now doing more harm than good. His father loved robins. Always called them, "my very own bird". When the phone rang the son was outside and a robin landed at his feet. As the doctor began to give him the difficult news about his father he went inside. But, forgetting to close the door. The robin followed him inside and landed on the kitchen counter where he was leaning. Without really thinking, and holding tears, the son put his hand out to the robin. The robin alighted on to his hand and stayed there…keeping him present to fully hear the words of the doctor. To not dismiss them or seek a way to avoid them. And then when the call was disconnected,  the robin flew out the door.  

God feeds us with the food we need. May we delight in that freedom and honour it in how we live our lives in this world, together and alone.

Homily for Sr. Susanne’s First Profession — September 23, 2014

In today’s Gospel reading Jesus says to Matthew, “Follow me”. And he did — just like that. I have often wondered or tried to imagine what might have preceded this exchange of words. Had Jesus seen Matthew hovering on the edge of a crowd of spectators at some point? Was Matthew already feeling discontented or disconnected from his work or perhaps even feeling guilty about working for the Roman occupation knowing the effect of the taxation system on his fellow Jews? What enabled him to let go of everything when Jesus said, “Follow me!” What enabled each of the sisters here to answer God’s call to enter this community? When I look back on my own call, there were little signs that I had ignored or not even been aware of consciously before I came to the Women at a Crossroads program in 1996. So it is with each of us.

My journey with Sr. Susanne began quite a while ago. Not long after the Sisters moved into this convent, early in 2005, Susanne came to see me about becoming an Associate of the Sisterhood. When she came to my office, she immediately noticed the two figures that I had on the window sill — called “Sisters”.  They represented for Susanne the close relationship she had and has with her sister Linda. It was as if these figures formed an invisible bond between us during this first meeting. We had a fairly lengthy visit during which we talked about what it meant to be an Associate and what had brought her to this point in her life. She had been working in the field of bankruptcy for 18 years and been involved in taxation all that time having filed many a tax return for her clients — an interesting connection with St. Matthew, the tax collector. She told me she was from the Roman Catholic tradition but had recently joined the Anglican Church. It seemed to me as if she might be at a crossroads of some kind.  I even wondered if she were feeling somewhat burned out?

In her sharing with me I sensed a deep desire for something more in her life; but what I remember most about this visit was this inexplicable desire growing in me to ask her if she had ever considered a call to the religious life. But that seemed such an inappropriate question to ask someone who was enquiring about being an Associate.

So I kept pushing this thought to the back of my mind trying to ignore it. But the question was so insistent that I finally blurted out, “Susanne, have you ever considered becoming a Sister?” I’m sure she was as surprised as I was. Her answer?  “But I’m divorced.”  I think I probably responded, “And... your point being?”   I’m sure I went on to say that that was not a problem, that we had other Sisters who had been divorced or widowed. Until that moment Susanne had never considered that the religious life was an option for her, but the Holy Spirit had now planted the seed in both of us.

Susanne started the process of becoming an Associate but she also applied for the Women at a Crossroads program for the summer of 2005. We had so many applicants that year that we asked 4 of them who lived in or near Toronto if they would be willing to come to a second Crossroads program we would offer in November, 2005. Susanne was one of those four (along with Anne Day who is also here today).

Susanne made the decision to enter our community in October, 2006, but left just under a year later for reasons that are no longer relevant. The church she then started attending was St. Matthew’s, Islington, another connection to this feast day. We were sorry to see Susanne leave but delighted when she enquired about returning; in 2011 she began again to test her vocation to the Religious Life. And so we are now celebrating Susanne’s First Profession on the Feast of St. Matthew.

Very little is known about St. Matthew, but in St. Mark’s Gospel, Matthew, or Levi as he is also known, is described as taking Jesus to his home after Jesus called him from the tax booth. Matthew invited many other sinners and tax-collectors to eat with him. It was on that occasion that some of the Pharisees asked Jesus why he ate with tax-collectors and sinners, and Jesus replied, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.’   It suddenly occurred to me that Sr. Susanne has been in the Guest House ministry almost her entire time in SSJD and is now the Guest House coordinator, so there seems to be  another link between St. Matthew and Susanne.

Today’s reading from Proverbs calls us to “trust in the Lord with all our heart” and not rely on our own insight. We are called to acknowledge God in all our ways and not let go of loyalty and faithfulness. Life has not always been easy for Susanne, a French speaking Canadian brought up in Niagara Falls, but I believe she has never wavered in her faithfulness to God. In the hymn based on Psalm 42 the psalmist describes his longing for God, a longing that is similar to a deer which is so thirsty that it is panting for water. The psalm also echoes the theme of trusting in God:

You alone are my strength, my shield, to you alone may my spirit yield,
you alone are my heart’s desire, and I long to worship you!

This longing for God, which I think we all feel but may not understand, does not take away from the love we have for our friends and family. Susanne has a deep love for her sister Linda, her two daughters, Melissa and Chrissy, her granddaughters Lauren and Catherine, and her extended family. One can see the joy in her whenever her family comes to visit or she talks about her family, but underneath all of that is her deep longing for God, to know God at a deeper level, to worship God, and to serve God to the best of her ability. It is that longing which has has drawn her to the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine.

She longs for that fullness of life that is described in the Gospel of John when Jesus said,  “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”  What is that abundant life? For me it is

! the life that fills us with the joy of living or as the French say: that joie de vivre;
! the life that inspires us to give generously of ourselves to others;
! the life that fills us with deep gratitude;
! the life that pushes us to seek the Kingdom of God now and help to bring it about in the world.

Our first hymn chosen by Sr. Susanne seems to be based on a prayer of St. Ignatius:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace.
That is enough for me.

This is not an easy prayer to say but it is what Sr. Susanne is proclaiming today in the words of the first hymn:


Lord of all bounty, I give you my heart;
I praise and adore you for all you impart;
Your love to inspire me, your counsel to guide,
Your presence to cheer me, whatever betide.

Love of all being, I give you my all;

If e’er I disown you I stumble and fall;
But, sworn in glad service your word to obey,
I walk in your freedom to the end of the way.

And so today, Sr. Susanne promises to keep the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience for the next three years. Many  people see these vows as “bad news”: no freedom; no money; no sex. But as Br. Clark, a Franciscan, writes in The Vows Book (P. 36 & 37), to us these vows are “special blessings” nor burdens. They free us to serve God with our whole heart and our neighbours as ourselves. “The vows are how we, as religious, say ‘Yes’ to God. They are our ‘Yes’ to the fullness of life.”

And so, Sr. Susanne, I pray that you may find your heart’s desire as you continue on this journey with the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine.

Homily for Sr. Susanne’s First Profession — September 23, 2014 by Sr. Elizabeth SSJD

130th Anniversary of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine Sermon The Most Rev. Fred J. Hiltz, Primate

In his book “Here I am: Reflections on the Ordained Life” Richard Giles writes “Ordained life is for those who are absolutely fascinated by God and absolutely and therefore tirelessly interested in people, knowing that this fragile and funny stuff called human nature is the raw material of God’s ceaseless re-creating.”

The same could be said of Religious Life.

Giles says those who are ordained are called to be artists of community. “We have”, he writes, “the supreme privilege of shaping with our hands, our prayers, our preaching and presiding communities of faith, caravans of pilgrims who will together discover and celebrate the love, healing and transformation of life in God’s grace.”

The same could be said of Religious Life.

Giles maintains that life in ordained ministry is “not for the faint hearted, the lazy, or those constantly given to checking their allowance for time off.”

The same could be said of Religious Life.

Today this Religious Community of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine (SSJD) celebrates the 130th anniversary of its founding in 1884 by Hannah Grier Coome, “She”, writes Stephen Reynolds, “was a godly woman whose life and work was characterized by holiness practical wisdom and a sense of humour that pierced high flying pretensions of unreasonable gloom.” Of her sisters she wrote, “A gravity of seriousness ought to mark your life and quietness of deportment but also true joy, peace and brightness and these shine forth on your countenance” and indeed it does to this day.

As the Sisters give thanks for the grace of God that has grown and sustained their community through numerous life professions; for the grace of God that has supported their life and witness through the companionship of their Alongsiders Associates and Oblates, bishops and parish clergy and many friends; for the grace of God by which they are being guided into a future not yet fully known; all the rest here present are giving thanks for the many ways in which this religious community has touched our lives personally and in some cases quite profoundly, and profoundly and graced our Church from one end of the country to the other.

When we’re too busy or too tired or too disillusioned to pray, the Sisters are gathering in their chapel praying the Daily Offices and lifting the life of the Church and the world heavenward. Even for them I suspect at times this round of daily offices is what Giles describes as “not so much a dance of exuberation as a steady plod of determination”.

By day and by night this community is given to this its first work – the work of prayer. Thank you dear Sisters, for holding us in this manner.

Every day the Sisters are meeting individuals in the spirit of companionship – listening to their joys and struggles in endeavouring to follow the way of Christ and offering out of their own experience, words of wisdom and encouragement. Thank you dear Sisters, for walking with us.

Every week the Sisters are receiving men and women in their Guesthouse – people longing for a time apart to rest awhile; to simply read and walk and pray and sleep. Thank you dear Sisters, for your welcome and your hospitality.

Year in and year out, indeed for 130 years the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine has offered a ministry of wholesome pastoral care for the sick, those in rehab from major surgery, and the elderly. They have maintained a posture of solidarity with the poor and the lonely, and with all who long for that justice that flows from the heart of God. Thank you dear Sisters, for all the compassion and courage exemplified in your ministries.

Indeed how blessed we are to be invited to join you as you mark this very special anniversary.

It is the day the whole Church remembers The Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In that great volume, “For All the Saints” Stephen Reynolds shares the legend of her birth to Anne and Joachim. Quoting some ancient source he writes, “At the tender age of three she was presented to the Lord. The high priest placed her on the third step of the altar and the Lord put grace upon the child and she danced for joy and the whole house of Israel loved her” - a sign in time of the great truth that the whole Church loves her. Anglicans love her in accord with the counsel of the great Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsay, who said “Let us keep the language of the early Church. … Let Mary be honoured. Let her Son be worshipped and adored.”

Moving from legend to the Canon of Scripture itself, we first meet Mary through St. Luke’s account of the Annunciation, the gospel appointed for today.

Much has been offered through the centuries by way of commentary on this moment in Mary’s life. I am personally intrigued by how Marie Azarello, a Sister of the Community of Notre Dame in Montreal speaks of the moment. “In many analysis” she writes, “it is a moment of consent. She did consent but it is important to note that she freely gave her consent. Otherwise we see her only as a passive, docile, obedient woman rather than a strong and courageous woman, prepared to live with the Holy Spirit working in and through her life, one in whom the purposes of God are fulfilled not only for her own moment in time but indeed for all time”.

In the Gospel, this moment of Annunciation is followed quickly by The Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth. As they greet one another, one’s word becomes known in time as The Hail Mary and the other as The Magnificat.

Of Mary’s Song “it would be taken” writes Herbert O’Driscoll, “from her lips and be augmented into a mighty anthem echoing in basilica and cathedral. In the centuries long monastic round of daily offices it would be the song that welcomes the approach of evening, the center point around which a jewel called English Evensong would revolve. Yet it would also be a dark and terrible song of revolution quoted in societies moving through political turmoil, or continents seething with a desire for change”.

“Why this strange mingling of the personal and the political, the heart and the world? Did Mary know not with her mind, but at some level beyond her knowing, that the child she was carrying would speak not only to the human heart but to the disturbing of the world?” that his gospel – was not only about individual redemption and personal renewal, but about the renewal of society under the reign of God’s love, peace and justice for all.

Of The Song of Mary, Azarello writes, “To pray the Magnificat each day as a disciple of Jesus is to pray in union with Mary in joy, faith, and thanksgiving to God as the source of our being; it is ‘to sing of God’s everlasting love and mercy which extends from age to age and to proclaim Mary’s hope in the fulfilment of the divine promises in favour of the whole of humanity’…

To pray the Magnificat is an expression of our desire to be honest about the state of our world and shows our conviction that the kingdom of God that Jesus preached is not a vision for an end time but a vision that begins now, in this world…

To pray the Magnificat in union with Mary draws us deeper and deeper into the heart of our baptism.”
This is strong commentary and it is a challenge to live the gospel of which we sing.

It leaves me pondering to what extent The Song of Mary is truly my song; the song of my life and my work, the song of our Church and its life and work in many places.

And I wonder how this song might inspire and influence the shape of the ministries of the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine for years to come?

Homily for the Funeral of Sr. Margaret Mary Watson, SSJD - 1931-2014

Feast of St. James the Apostle, July 25, 2014

• Wisdom 3:1-9 »
• Psalm 23 (sung) »
• Revelation 21:1-7 »
• John 14:1-7 »

It is fitting that we are holding Sr. Margaret Mary’s funeral on the feast day of St. James the Apostle. Like James, Margaret Mary was devoted to Jesus and shared her passion and love with other people. James did it as an evangelist who with other disciples took to the road after Jesus’ resurrection. Margaret Mary did it more quietly perhaps, through her loving care for the sisters she lived with, the patients she visited at St. John’s Rehab, the residents at Cana Place (our Home for the Aged), with the sisters she nursed in our infirmary, with the many guests who received her gracious hospitality while she was Guest Sister on Botham Road and who often sought her counsel, and with the convent staff she supervised and worked with in her role as Clerk of the Works. And then there were the people and causes she prayed for regularly, including the Council of the North and the Native Justice of the Peace program.

While she did not take to the road in the literal way that St. James did, Margaret Mary followed

her own path in the Sisterhood just as steadfastly and purposefully.

As I was reflecting on the scripture readings for this service, I was struck by a prevailing

metaphor of “the road” or “the way.” The Bible is filled with references to “the way,” to the

road or path or journey that God calls us on. The 23rd Psalm which we sang a few minutes ago

is as much about a journey as it is about sheep. God the shepherd guides us along paths of

righteousness, leads us beside still waters, finds places of rest for us along the way, provides

food and anointing for our weary bodies. And the goal of this journey? The goal is to live in the

house of the Lord forever.

The goal of our lives is always ultimately about dwelling in God’s house, whether we are

conscious of that or not. We come from God and we return to God. That is what the gospel is

about. Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. And he assures us that he goes ahead of us on

the path to prepare a place for us. Jesus himself is the way. And in the reading from the book

of Revelation we also hear the good news that God makes a home among us, symbolized by

the heavenly Jerusalem.

These images of the way and of home bring me back to both Sr. Margaret Mary and St. James.

When I learned that her funeral was to be on this feast day I thought immediately of the

Camino de Santiago de Compostela – the famous pilgrimage route through northwestern Spain

to the shrine of St. James (Santiago in Spanish) in Compostela. Now I have never had the

opportunity to walk the Camino, the Way of St. James, but I love hearing and reading about

peoples’ experiences. The other night some of the sisters watched the DVD of The Way with

Martin Sheen. It is a beautiful film in its scenery, in the people and culture of the Camino. But

even more wonderful is the unfolding spiritual journey of redemption and reconciliation. It is

also a story about community, and about how we discover who we truly are both in our

aloneness and also in company with those who walk the journey with us.

In the film Tom, played by Martin Sheen, has been estranged from his son and when he learns

that his son died in a storm on the Camino, he flies over to retrieve the body and then is drawn

into walking the Way himself. He carries his son’s cremains with him, and as he comes to

various stops along the 400-km Camino, he scatters some of the ashes, marking his own route

and the route his son would have taken had he lived.

Tom meets up with three other very different people. In the journey to Santiago de

Compostela they each find who they are genuinely called to be, they give up what keeps them

from doing that, and they find the sacred balance between the integrity of self and the good of

the community. Paradoxically they discover that the self can only fully flower in community

and the community can only fully grow and mature is the individuals within it do.

Let me tell you a story about Sr. Margaret Mary which is a perfect example of this paradox of

solitude and community. When the sisters were deciding, back in 2002, whether to renovate

the old convent on Botham Road or to build a new convent. Margaret Mary was one of the few

who did not want to move, and especially she did not want to move here on Cummer Avenue.

She felt strongly that the old buildings were worthy of being renovated, that we already had an

urban oasis on a beautiful mature property with gardens and shade trees, with easy access to

the subway and in a quiet cul-de-sac bordered on three sides by ravine land. She believed that

moving here, next door to St. John’s Rehab, was going to be less protected, more noisy, and

because it is on a heavily-travelled street not at all private. She also feared that we would get

swallowed up by the big institution of the hospital next door and that we would lose some of

our focus on hospitality to guests, which was a big thing to her.

What is very moving about her resistance is the way she dealt with it, the inner journey she

travelled. It was her own Camino and the end of the pilgrimage was to discover that this was

indeed a holy place, a home, and worthy of her devotion every bit as much as the shrine of St.

James is to pilgrims on the Camino.

In a reflection she wrote in 2008, on the third anniversary of our move here, she said this:

Once the decision was made to move . . . to Cummer Avenue, I had to start the long process,

the hard work of grieving and of allowing myself to move to a place where I could offer

wholehearted support. I had to . . . work out on my own how we could live closely with a big

and powerful organization [next door] and still be our own self. And how to do this in

gentleness and peace. One of the things that we did was create a calendar the year that we

were moving – each month with a picture from a different part of the Botham Road convent.

This became my icon – here I prayed, here I cried, here I met God as I made my own personal

journey from Botham Road to Cummer Avenue.”

And while this was her personal journey, it was done of course in the context of community

and with the support of her sisters – even as she supported us in the process. And I believe

this is what allowed her to appropriate that journey and to become a strong supporter of our

life and mission in this place.

Sr. Margaret Mary was the Clerk of the Works at the time of the move – responsible for the

maintenance of buildings and grounds. She was also in charge of organizing the move, and her

written reflection talked about how all the details of that got her so involved that she was able

to take ownership of the process and give herself wholeheartedly to it.

Once we had moved into the new building, she said, “I had another journey to make. This was

to be my home, and how was I going to be at home here, in a place where I still carried my

fears? . . . I made sure that I got to know every little detail of the new place. As the Clerk of

the Works and Assistant to the Rev. Mother, I decided that the first priority was to create a

home, and to make this a homey place for my sisters and those who came to us.”

Her journey was a courageous one, and it is a journey that we all go on in different ways. We

all have to face our fears and resistances. It is easier if we have a strong community or family

around us to urge us on. In the end it is a solitary journey and yet one which follows the great

shepherd. Jesus said “I go to prepare a place for you and you know the way” – and when

Thomas didn’t understand what he meant, and wondered what was the way, Jesus said I am

the way, the truth and the life.

I

n the first reading this morning, there is another wonderful image of “the way/” The writer of

the Book of Wisdom talks of the goal, the destiny of the righteous ones, the ones who follow

the way of God: “Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good, because God

tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like

a sacrificial burnt-offering he accepted them. In the time of their visitation they will shine

forth, and will run like sparks through the stubble.”

Margaret Mary created many sparks – like the stars in the night sky of Compostela (which

means “field of stars”), she warmed the hearts of many people and started fires of love that

were shared way beyond the circle of her sisters. As Sr. Elizabeth Ann said a few days ago, we

can now picture her leaving aside her motorized scooter and her walker and running again, like

a young girl, following Jesus and setting on fire with love and passion the stubble on the path

she follows.

In 2008 when Margaret Mary wrote the reflection of her journey from Botham Road to

Cummer Avenue, she summed up her whole life journey, her pilgrimage through the religious

life to God, and her literal journey when she said “I am comfortable and glad in the place that

we are now,” and she goes on to quote Julian of Norwich: “I can see that all shall be well,

indeed all manner of thing shall be well.”

Preached by the Reverend Sister Constance Joanna Gefvert

Download this homily as a pdf here »

Visit the SSJD website here »

Canada Day, July 1, 2014 preached by the Reverend Sister Constance Joanna Gefvert

Isaiah 32:1-5, 16-18 Psalm 85.7-13

Colossians 3:12-17 John 15.12-17

In the 1860s, just about the time when Hannah Grier Coome and her new husband Horace were married and living in England, the winds of political change were blowing back in Canada. At that time there were three colonies in British North America – Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Canada (which in turn was made up of an eastern division – what is now Ontario – and a western division – what is now Quebec). They were feeling vulnerable, as the British government seemed less than enthusiastic about defending its three north American colonies, and the U.S. was becoming more agressive. There was fear of annexation, and when the U.S. purchased Alaska that fear seemed justified.

There had been talks for years about joining the North American British colonies into one, and through a patient and peaceful process of political negotiation the three colonies were able to agree on a new structure. On July 1, 1867 confederation was declared through the British North America Act, and the three colonies became four provinces of the Dominion of Canada (the Province of Canada having been divided into Ontario and Quebec).

The British North American Act of 1867 was a masterpiece of diplomacy, but it was just one landmark in a longer process – it would be some years before Newfoundland and PEI, as well as the western provinces and the territories would join. It was not perfect by any means. The ongoing issues about a separate Quebec and the botch job that we made of relations with the aboriginal peoples of Canada and native land claims are evidence of this. But it meant that everyone north of the U.S. border except those in Alaska would eventually be joined under one federal government, with certain powers allocated to the provinces.

It was a peaceful process. Unlike the birth of many countries of the world it did not take place in the cauldron of war. And I think that is partly what has helped make Canada a model of ethnic and cultural cooperation. The advances that we have made in new relationships with the aboriginal peoples of our country, and which we celebrated a week or so, is a sign that we can recognize our imperfections and try to keep birthing this land of hope.

Today we celebrate the 147^th anniversary of confederation, and the federal government is already making plans for the 150^th anniversary in 2017. Having grown up in the U.S. I find myself becoming emotional at the thought of being accepted as a Canadian. I love this country. I love the way we came to independence from Britain, through peaceful civil conversation. I deeply respect our political processes and our human rights record even with all their imperfections because Canadians are humble enough to realize we really don’t have it altogether. And that means there is room for growth.

And that room for growth is what we are offered in the scripture readings today. They remind me of Advent, of our sense of longing for the coming Messiah and the promised reign of peace. The images in the reading from Isaiah tug at my heart strings. When the promised ruler comes, it will be like finding a shelter from the storm, like streams of water in the desert, like a great rock that provides shade. When God’s reign comes, “then justice will dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness abide in the fruitful field. . . . God’s people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.”

We continue to long for that reign of peace, and the psalm today expresses our prayer and our hope: “You speak, O God and I will listen, for your words are peace to your faithful people and to those who turn their hearts to you. Truly, your salvation is very near to those who fear you, that your glory may dwell in our land.”

But as Christians our land is bigger than Canada. We are citizens of the world. And if we put the birth of our nation into context, we see that many other countries around the world are in such dire birth pains that they sound more like the rattle of death. We cannot just rest in the self-satisfaction of being Canadian, of living among a mostly peaceful people. Our role as disciples of the Messiah of Peace is to share the peace of Christ in whatever way we can. And the other two readings today show us how to do that.

In Paul’s letter to the Colossians he brings it right home: “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves wtih love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body.”

That is what we are called here for, this Sisterhood, or any other body of Christians. Not for ourselves, but for others. We are called know Christ’s peace – and then to share it.

And in John’s gospel, Jesus’ words are even stronger. “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. I do not call you servants any longer . . . but I have called you friends. . . . You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.”

Whew – that is pretty clear, isn’t it? We have been chosen. We have been appointed. And what have we been chosen and appointed for? To bear fruit that will last, so that what we ask of God we may receive, so that we may love one another, so that we may share the fruit of that love.

So on this Canada Day, as we rejoice in our freedoms, let us remember that we have been chosen and appointed to bear the fruit of peace for others. It begins at home for everyone. But it doesn’t end there. If the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Toronto can change the weather on the other side of the world, then our practice of peace with each other, and our prayer for peace, may just create a tiny breeze that will change something in someone’s heart over in Russia or Ukraine or Iraq or Egypt or Nigeria – some heart change that will affect someone else’s heart that will affect someone else’s heart. And just as surely as the Serbian bullet that killed the Archduke of Austria 100 years ago was the catalyst for the first world war, so our prayer, our practice of peace with each other, may be the catalyst that will give people in other parts of the world an opportunity to live with the degree of peace that we do in Canada.

Sister Constance Joanna

Thank God for our country, and thank God that we are chosen to go and bear fruit that will last. Amen.

Some Dates to Note:

July 1, 1867: The British North America Act (today known as the Constitution Act, 1867) is proclaimed and creates Canada.

June 20, 1868: The Governor General, Lord Monck, signs a proclamation that requests all Her Majesty’s subjects across Canada to celebrate July 1.

1879: A federal law makes July 1 a statutory holiday as the “anniversary of Confederation,” which is later called “Dominion Day.”

October 27, 1982: July 1, “Dominion Day” officially becomes Canada Day.

2014: Canadian Heritage organizes the 147th Canada Day celebrations. As we approach Canada’s 150th anniversary in 2017, the government has given the Department the mandate to organize Canada Day festivities in the capital. 

Holy Trinity Sunday, preached at Christ Memorial Church by Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Homily: Trinity Sunday Year A

Christ Memorial Church, June 15, 2014

Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Genesis 1.1 - 2.4a Psalm 8

2 Corinthians 13.11-13 Matthew 28.16-20

I remember when the Sky Dome first opened in Toronto in 1989 – hard to believe that was 25 years ago. (I realize that it has officially been known as the Rogers Centre since 2005, but most people still think of it as the Sky Dome.) I was lucky enough to go to some of the Blue Jays games because I was working at St. John’s Rehab Hospital and the staff were occasionally offered free tickets.

But my first time at the Sky Dome was the most memorable – it was the 150^th anniversary of the Diocese of Toronto in 1989. It was one of the first events to be held in the Sky Dome and there was even some question about whether it would be finished and opened in time. But it was. All the Sunday-morning church services in the diocese were cancelled, and busloads of Anglicans from as far away as Cobourg and Orillia came to join in the Sunday-morning celebration of the Eucharist with nearly 50,000 other Anglicans, including a massed choir of 1500 singers from church choirs all over the diocese.

It’s just hard to imagine if you weren’t there, but there was such an amazing sense of the Spirit moving in that place as we sang hymns, listened to scripture, and celebrated communion together. Clergy and chalice-bearers carried the bread and wine from the altar on the stadium floor to strategic locations in the stands. And we knew that the Spirit had gathered us together as a witness: a witness to the love of God in a secular society, a witness that we are each created in the image of God but forged into a Christian community sent out to bear witness to that truth. All of this in the Sky Dome, not in a church or cathedral – in the midst of one of the greatest symbols of our secular society. I believe our presence and our prayer there blessed the Sky Dome and blessed our city in ways we will never know. And we were sent out from there to spread the good news everywhere.

Do you know how the Sky Dome got its name? The Toronto Sun ran a contest and 2,000 different people suggested that name. When it was chosen, one of the officials remarked, "The sky is a huge part of the whole roof process. The name has a sense of the infinite and that's what this is all about."

The infinite – God – is indeed what it is all about. What our lives are about, and our mission as Christians. Both the creation story from Genesis and Jesus’ commissioning of the Disciples from Matthew are directly related to this.

The account of creation in Genesis is a story we are all familiar with and don’t always notice the details. Let me read you the beginning:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day.

Every time I hear that passage read I think of the Sky Dome. “God called the dome Sky.” The official who explained the Sky Dome’s name said “it has a sense of the infinite.” As in the scripture, the dome of the sky separates heaven from earth, the infinite from the finite – and God said “that is good!”

Notice how each day has the same pattern: God says something – “Let there be light, “let there be a dome to separate earth from heaven,” and on the third day, “let vegetation appear.” God speaks creation into being. And each time we are told “And God saw that it was good.”

By the time we get to the fourth day, God says “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky” – and God creates the Sun and the Moon. The Dome of the Sky continues to be the separation between heaven and earth, creating a safe place for living things. And so on the next two days God creates birds and sea creatures, mammals, and vegetation.

And finally on day 6, God says “Let us make humankind in our image” (he’s using the royal “we” here!). After each other day of creation, God says “it was good.” But after creating humans, God says “it was very good.” We are all created in God’s image – how good is that?! We are embued with the creativity, the love, the joy and peace of God. Other things get in the way (and that’s part of another story in Genesis). But our destiny is to live in the image of God. We are separated on earth from the heavens, by the Dome of the Sky. But in the fullness of time, God sent Jesus, who opened that dome and brought heaven and earth together.

That is one reason we listen to the creation story on Trinity Sunday, which is the day of the church year when we celebrate the three-fold nature of God. One God, but in three manifestations: God our creator, God who comes to earth in the person of Jesus, and God the Holy Spirit who came on the day of Pentecost as our comforter and advocate when Jesus returned to heaven.

And the Holy Spirit was also there on the day of creation. In older translations Genesis begins “the Spirit of God moved over the face of the waters.” In our modern translation it reads “a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” The words that we translate wind, breath, and spirit all come from the same Hebrew word, ruach.

The Spirit is a creating Spirit. This whole reading from Genesis is about the creative activity of God, and God’s desire to create. And we are created in the image of God – that is with the ability to create, to invent, to dream and vision a world in partnership with God. That means that creation is not just something that happened once upon a time – it continues to unfold. God’s vision of the universe continues to unfold, and we are partners in that creative process. In the language of the New Testament, we are building the Kingdom of God.

And that brings us to the gospel reading for today. It is the account of Jesus commissioning the disciples to carry on his mission just before he ascends to the Father. It’s interesting to notice where they go. First, it is in Galilee. Jesus’ public ministry began in Galilee. On the day of the resurrection Jesus told the disciples to meet him in Galilee. And so this gathering on the mountain in Galilee brings the story of Jesus full circle. He is about to leave the disciples, and after he ascends, the Dome of the Sky will separate him and his friends once again. But they have the commission of Jesus to become his body in the world. And they have the presence of his Spirit with them as well. He says:

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

The Sky Dome represents the infinite, we are told. And in scripture the Dome of the Sky

represents the boundary between heaven and earth. But the continued presence of God our creator, Jesus our Saviour, and the Holy Spirit connects us spiritually and allows us to bring the message of Jesus to those who long for the knowledge of God’s creative and saving work but don’t know or understand how to connect with it. People in the Sky Dome who have never been inside a church may look up at the sky when the dome is open and think of the Infinite – long for the Infinite. But they will only know what that means if we can share our own experience of God with them.

On this Trinity Sunday, let us remember that our commission is to make disciples of all nations and baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. That commission is for all Christians not just the clergy.

So I will leave you with a question: What can you do to open that dome between earth and heaven and give someone a glimpse of who our wonderful God is?

Homily given at SSJD by Andrea Budgey, May 4, 2014

​Cleopas and his companion – perhaps his wife, if we accept a connection with the Mary, wife of Clopas named in John's Gospel – they had given up. For some time, they had followed Jesus faithfully, and taken hope in his message of healing and liberation. They had looked forward to a glorious kingdom of justice and peace, Israel restored to right relationship with God and freed from its oppressors, and for a little while, their own small and ordinary lives had seemed like part of something more important, something holy, something eternal. But in the space of a few days, everything had fallen apart. Mary had seen Jesus crucified, seen him die, and the strange story of an empty tomb left her mystified but cold. Cleopas, like most of the other men, had probably stayed in hiding, and now he just wanted to get out – to go home to Emmaus, and get right away from the scene of his shattered dreams.

​As they walked, their thoughts and their words must have gone around in the futile, circular way that those of despondent and despairing people often do: Cleopas, perhaps, talked about the night in the garden, where he'd been on the fringes of the action, and Mary about the next horrible day. What could they have done differently? What could Jesus have done differently? Why didn't he use the power he'd shown before? Why hadn't the other disciples taken some action? What would happen now? Would the others end up arrested and killed as well? Would they themselves be safe, if they stayed away for a while? By the time the stranger began walking with them, their conversation would have been travelling around in tight little twists of pain, anger, resentment, and fear. Then, they had to explain everything again from the start for him…

​Once they had told their story, the stranger seemed not to care very much about their inner turmoil, but embarked on a long justification of recent events, taken out of the Torah and the prophets. He was still talking when they reached their own home in Emmaus, and for decency's sake, they had to ask him in. They scraped together some supper, from what they had carried with them, and asked the guest – because thatès what you do – to speak the blessing. They heard the familiar formula: Barukh atah, Adonai Elohaynu, melekh ha-olam... Blessed are you, O Lord our God, ruler of the universe... and suddenly they knew him, in the words they had so often heard him speak. Their abandoned hopes flashed into life – and then he was gone. They may well have cried out in shock and loss, but their whole encounter with him suddenly took on a different meaning. How could they have been so wrapped up in their own misery that they didn't recognise him? How could they not have taken in his teaching?

​Cleopas and Mary were still deeply confused, but now they needed to go back to the others, share their story, compare experiences. The empty tomb began to make some sense to them, gave them hope where none had been. Their fear of the authorities was probably as great as ever, but the future now lay in being with other followers of Jesus. So they hurried back.

​This is all imagination, of course, spun from the filaments of Luke’s narrative, but it arises from the fact that the story of the encounter on the road to Emmaus is such a classic illustration of the way in which good, decent, loving people can behave when they have given up on a project, a relationship, a resolution, or a belief. We draw in our horizons to what we ourselves have experienced; our trust in others shrinks. We blame circumstances and other people for our loss of hope, and instead of being open to teaching and to the encounter with God we run around in ever-tightening circles of recrimination and fear. Rather than welcoming those signs which might encourage us, and draw us to new tasks and new prospects, we retreat to the company of those who share our disillusionment, and cling to control what little we can. Fortunately, the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus is also a classic illustration of God's infinite gentleness and patience with us, and of the love of Christ, which is never withdrawn from us.

​Even if we are running away, Christ comes to us. Even if we are wilfully deaf and blind to him, and only recognise the lesson later, Christ teaches us. However reluctantly we may offer hospitality, Christ accepts our invitation and honours it with the gift of his presence, and when we gather, whether in twos and threes or in a larger group, Christ is in the midst of us, blessing, breaking, and sharing what we offer, making it holy and uniting it with the gift of himself, broken and shared in service and sacrifice. Any gift of ours, no matter how small (or even how grudgingly offered), can be used and transformed by God.

​The structure of the Eucharist echoes this resurrection encounter. We come as individuals, with our cares, our fears, our sorrows, and our doubts, and Christ meets us in teaching, in all the wisdom and challenge and difficulty of scripture, in history and prophecy and in the news of the Gospel. We offer what we have carried with us – the brokenness of our confessions as well as the presentation of our gifts – and both are transformed. Our sinfulness is healed by Christ's absolution, our gifts of money, time, and talent become the nourishment of our community in its worship and its corporate life, and our gifts of bread and wine become the nourishment of our community in Christ's body and blood. If we are open and attentive, we recognise him in this blessing, breaking, and sharing, and even if the recognition is fleeting, it draws us to God and unites us with others who have shared our experience, joins us more surely to the body of Christ, and then sends us into the world to make the joy of the resurrection manifest. Whenever we gather in this sacramental way, we walk the road to Emmaus – in both directions. That doesn't mean that all our confusion or pain or fear will be taken away, but that we are given hope and strength to transform it, and a community in which to live out that transformation.

​There are, of course, many roads to and from Emmaus, and to and from Jerusalem, for that matter. There are many ways in which we learn of God, and from God, through scripture or other reading, through the testimony of nature and of other people's goodness and wisdom. There are also many moments of sudden encounter and recognition, in meditation, in beauty, in the faces of friends and of strangers. Our response to our learning, and to our encounter with Christ, must ultimately be one of hope in the resurrection, and however obscure our understanding may be, this hope is not something we can hug to ourselves for our own comfort; it compels us to share our experience. That is why, as Christian communities, we must face outward, and find ways in which to communicate our hope and our joy to those with whom we come in contact, not by any heavy-handed, aggressive proselytising, but by sharing the fullness of our life: sharing our care for one another and the society around us, being a prophetic voice for the marginalised, practising beauty in our relationships as well as in our worship, and being willing to talk, however haltingly and uncertainly, about what we feel and believe about God. All of this involves making ourselves vulnerable, not scurrying back to the safety of the house in Emmaus, but using it instead as a base for our engagement with the world and with the risen Christ. We don't, in our society, risk arrest or torture for this. We may risk feeling uncomfortable or ridiculous, but that is a small danger on the road back to Jerusalem!

​As we move through this Eastertide, I would suggest that we keep the story of the disciples from Emmaus before us. Whenever we feel the urge to retreat to a tight little world over which we may feel we have some – though largely illusory – measure of control, and where we imagine we'll be safe, or at least not bothered, let us remember our encounter with the risen Christ, the encounter which we renew whenever we gather in for the Eucharist. In that encounter may we find the will, the courage, and the joy to be Christ's life in the world. Amen.