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

1 Kings 8:22-30 Psalm 122.1-9

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

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

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

Sister Constance Joanna

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Homily for New Year's Day - 2014

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

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

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

Sister ERT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sister Constance Joanna

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

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

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

Homily to the Council of General Synod on Sunday, November 17, 2013 given by Sister Elizabeth Rolfe-Thomas, SSJD

Homily to the Council of General Synod on Sunday, November 17, 2013

(Readings: Mal 4:1-2a;Psalm 98; 2 Thess 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19)

When I first looked at the readings for today, they seemed dark and foreboding. From Malachi: “See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble . . .”. The writer of the 2^nd letter to the Thessalonians tells us to keep away from believers who live in idleness (or in another translation) those who conduct themselves in a disorderly way and not according to the tradition they received from us. . .” In Luke’s Gospel, the disciples are told that the temple will be destroyed: “the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” This leads into a horrifying description of the end times and all that will happen before the Son of Man appears. There will be signs such as wars and earthquakes, famines and plagues.” It’s no wonder that the end of the world has been proclaimed so many times in the past. I remember back in the 70's or 80's when I was teaching high school, some people were convinced that the world was going to end during our Christmas holidays. We had heard of people building underground bunkers in Australia. Some of my students asked if they needed to study for their exams in January. I told them it was their choice, but if the world didn’t end, there would still be exams so they might want to hedge their bets.

Things can seem as bleak today as they have in the past: we have become so familiar with wars and rumors of wars, with hearing about devastating earthquakes and famines, typhoons and tsunamis, with news of climate change and the effects of global warming and the pollution of our planet. And the sense of impending disaster is not limited to the outside world. We sense it too in our church; we see an aging population, fewer people attending church especially children and young people; less money in the bank and many churches closing. It’s almost an echo of “not one stone left upon another”. It’s so easy to become discouraged. On Thursday afternoon, however, during the World Café exercise, I was particularly struck by something that had been written on one of the paper tablecloths. “Actual circumstances are an obligatory push to mission . . . they are an opportunity for mission.”

Times of crisis are challenging but they can also be seen as opportunities for change, opportunities to take risks, to try something new, to experiment because in one sense there’s less to lose. It’s almost as if we sometimes need to experience major losses in order to envision something new. I can be extremely comfortable with what is until something terrible happens which eventually opens me to new opportunities. When my husband died of a brain tumor in 1992, it seemed like the end of my world at that time. I no longer had a great desire to live. Life was simply putting one foot in front of the other, doing my job as a high school teacher and administrator the best way I could. I couldn’t have imagined at that time that I would enter the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine five years later and embark on a new life that would be completely fulfilling.

When everything is going well, there often doesn’t seem to be the same need to cry to God for help or to listen so intentionally for God’s still, small voice. But when disaster strikes or life seems to be falling apart, we remember that God has promised to be with us always to the end of the age. We become more intentional about listening for the voice of the Holy Spirit within; we may even take time to go on retreat to be more open and attentive to God’s guidance. 

On Friday evening, I took some time to look at the sticky wall. Some of the words that attracted my attention were hope, trust, openness to the Holy Spirit, humility, vulnerability, risking together, flexible creativity and experimentation, celebrating our identity and strengths. And finally a question: What are others both inside and outside the church calling us and needing us to be?”  I think this is a question that is well worth pondering not just at CoGS but throughout the church family.

Phyllis Tickle, an Episcopalian lay woman from the southern U.S. who has written 2 or 3 books on the Emerging Church, believes that these are exciting times in which to live. Among the Anglican Religious communities in North America, all of us are smaller than we once were. Some are down to fewer than 5 members but at our annual conference in Racine, Wisconsin, this past May, there were representatives of about 15 new communities that have been or are now emerging. It was very exciting to hear about how they had come into being and what they are doing. Only a few live together in community or have a mother house as more traditional religious communities do, but all of them are finding ways to be community and to serve in their respective churches and communities. It’s so important to see this present time as an opportunity for new life, for the birthing of new ways of being church. Our readings this morning are not completely dark or without hope. There are positive signs in each of the readings.

The reading in Malachi ends with these words: “But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness will rise, with healing in its wings.” We saw a beautiful example of this in yesterday’s video [on the 2^nd National Native Convocation in Minaki in 1993].

Psalm 98 is full of love and joy:

“O sing to the Lord a new song, for God has done marvelous things. . . “

“Shout with joy to God, all you lands; lift up your voice, rejoice, and sing.

Sing to God with the harp, with the harp and the voice of song.

With trumpets and the sound of the horn, shout with joy before . . . the Lord.

We have heard this joy in the Lord many times over the past few days especially in the commemoration of Archbishop Michael Peer’s apology to the Indigenous peoples we had last night in the context of a communion service. The 2^nd letter to the Thessalonians tells us not to “weary in doing what is right.”

Even the passage from Luke’s Gospel has words of hope:

“I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”

On Friday, I so enjoyed hearing Melissa [Green] and Bp. Mark’s report of the World Council of Churches’ conference in Busan, Korea,. While I was saddened that our differing theologies about the Eucharist still prevent Christian churches from coming together around the sharing of bread and wine, I was profoundly moved by Melissa’s description of people coming together in the washing of one another’s feet. To wash someone’s feet or to allow someone to wash one’s own feet is an action of great intimacy. How wonderful that members of so many denominations could enact this sign of servant-hood and hope, providing us with a concrete way in which we can come together in Christian unity.

St. Francis is supposed to have said:

Proclaim the gospel and if necessary use words.

We can give thanks for what Anglicans have done in the past and seize the many opportunities we have to show  by our actions that we genuinely care for one another in the church and even more especially outside the church, not only in words, but in all that we do.

We have a message of healing and reconciliation for the world, a message that was proclaimed yesterday afternoon in such a powerful way. People need to be reassured that healing and reconciliation are possible, that “neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else is all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Jesus call us to feed the hungry, to provide clean water for those who thirst, to welcome the stranger, to clothe the naked, to visit those in prison, to care for the sick. We can’t do everything but we can all do something. We can look at our skills and areas of influence and choose where to focus our attention and our energies so that we can make a difference and have an impact on our world.

Our church may be much smaller than it was, at least in North America, but it can still make a difference. 

The Sermon preached on the Feast Day of St. Margaret of Scotland by The Reverend Frances Drolet-Smith

St. Margaret 16 November

Queen of Scotland, Helper of the Poor, 1093 — Commemoration

Matthew 25: 31-40

Today we commemorate Margaret, Queen of Scotland, a job description impressive enough, but I am more impressed and intrigued by the second notation given her in Stephen Reynolds’ compilation For All the Saints – Margaret is called “Helper of the Poor.”

Margaret was an Anglo-Saxon princess who married King Malcolm III of Scotland in 1069. Together they raised eight children (I’m sure they had help) and, also together, they promoted reforms in all facets of Scottish life: in the royal court, in the Church, and in the nation itself. But Margaret is chiefly remembered for her efforts on behalf of Scotland’s poor. She gave away large sums of money and also held institutions, already in place, accountable to their mandates of actually providing relief to those they purported to help: the homeless, hungry, and orphaned. Margaret also provided funds to buy Anglo-Saxons out of slavery, indentured by their Norman conquerors. It is for this merciful act that, to her title of Queen, is added the even greater title — “Helper of the Poor.”

This passage from Matthew’s Gospel marks and makes a resounding end to Jesus’ public discourse, making them extremely poignant “last words”. Here Jesus instructs his followers in “what to do next”, “what to be busy at” – in short, how to live their lives without him there to model it for them. The work includes attending to the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the stranger, the imprisoned – those in actual prisons, as well as those in economic or spiritual, prisons. In short, Jesus is instructing his followers, including us, to be busy sharing the gifts of Grace; gifts as basic as food and water, gifts equally basic to human existence as acceptance, love – solidarity with “the least of these” in every possible way. In doing so, we care for Christ who continues to live among us. Neglecting to do so....well, not to put too fine a point on it...fails Christ.

I’d like to tell you another old story:

It’s a story from the desert – a story from the earliest religious communities dating back to the end of the 2nd century. It’s a story that I think has something to say to us as we try to come to terms with how to live in a world where people are increasingly fearful, un-trusting, and apprehensive to express compassion,. to live compassionately.

A monastic community was in trouble and so the abbess went into the wilderness, seeking wisdom from an anchoress.

She said, “My community is shrinking in numbers, the Sisters are quarrelsome and grumbling, there are few visitors and our worship hardly ever gives me joy. What is to be done?”

The Anchoress said, “Tell the first Sister you meet on your return that the Messiah has come and is in the community.”

“What!” said the abbess, how can that be? They will tell me that I have gone mad.” The anchoress smiled that knowing smile, like anchoresses do . . .

So even though she felt very foolish, the abbess did as she was told. The word spread in the community, from one to another. One by one the Sisters began to change their attitudes, and their behaviour toward each other. Life improved for them all and the community once again became a center of love, peace and compassion.

This “old” story is really about living well in community. And where ever we find ourselves living, be it in families, in parishes, in the places where we work, or in the wider community, we are called to choose, day by day, sometimes minute by minute, how we will live – in harmony, or at odds with one another. Image how life would be if we really believed the Messiah was in our midst. . .

Jesus encouraged his followers to love one another, to care for anyone in need, whatever the need, but he was not naive – he knew that living together is hard work, that people don’t always get along, that we don’t always see eye-to-eye, so he also encouraged his followers to pray for their enemies, to do good to those who persecute or harm them. “Living well in community” is precisely what we ought to be about, whether inside these lovely walls or “out there” in the big world: living lives of prayer and service and welcoming strangers in Christ’s name. The community in that desert story had essentially forgotten “who” they were; they had forgotten how to live together with loving compassion.

In our retreat this weekend, we’ve been considering how God calls us to the task of making peace and in turn to offer peace to others. Despite evidence to the contrary, I’ve been bold enough to suggest that transforming the world is not an impossible task! Fundamental to our lives as Christians living in an often troubled world is the understanding that hope is a choice. Not-so-long-ago, this Millennium, now no longer so new, but remember when we started it? It seemed fraught with possibility and promise, and we had such high hopes. We’re only 13 years in and we’ve already witnessed several wars and rumours of war and in the process, we’ve convinced ourselves we cannot trust anyone, let alone, get along with or help them. The horrific events of September 11^th unsettled us to our core, awakening in us a whole range of primal emotions: fear, anger, disillusionment, revenge, helplessness. After seeing the unspeakable, some were moved to retaliate and we have seen acts of violence and vandalism unleashed on yet more innocent people. We may well wonder where this madness will end.

Well, that will be determined by how we choose to live: in fear, or in love. In anger, or in deeds of mercy. In revenge, or in peaceful pursuits. In helplessness, or in hospitality.

The Sisters in that old story were challenged to see the Messiah in their midst – we too can look for the Messiah in our midst, and see the change not only in others, but in ourselves. The Good News here is that there is no checklist of good deeds to fill out. Jesus is talking about our manner of living here, and it’s one that isn’t motivated out of the fear of Hell or the hope of heaven, for that matter, but a life that’s driven by an authentic love. In a world increasingly characterized by fear and suspicion, what is the Church called to be? How do we change hostility into hospitality?

Compassion is a spiritual practice. Theologian Carl Gregg says “The day-to-day practice of compassion and of love toward your neighbours (and he means, all your neighbours!) is much more important and difficult than simply believing a creed or a set of doctrines.” Think of it: if others are praying that the hungry be fed, the naked clothed, that peace will reign – maybe we can be the answer to their prayer. An exercise the participants in the retreat are doing is making Prayer Flags. Prayer Flags are seen all over the mountainside in the Himalayas. They do not carry prayers “to” God, as many think; rather the prayers are blown by the wind to bless the countryside – silent, powerful witnesses carrying messages of goodwill and compassion that can change the hearts of those who see them. Tomorrow we will each take a flag home with a commitment to somehow be the answer to someone’s prayer.

I am not so naive to think we can make it all better but we are required to make the world right in front of us a little more just, a little more merciful, a little more filled with love. With God's grace, our meagre efforts, however small, will spread from one to another, the world over. We may never see the fruits of the seeds we plant, but as any gardener knows, planting them at all is the thing that matters.

The Reverend Frances Drolet-Smith

Some of you may remember Timothy Matthews, the former Bishop of the Diocese of Quebec. If not, you may remember hearing a blessing he used often, that many have repeated over the years: May God bless you wherever you go, and may you see the face of Jesus in everyone you meet.

Frances Drolet-Smith is an Oblate of SSJD and  a parish priest in the Diocese of NS and PEI

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.