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.

The Sermon preached on April 27, 2014 (ACPO) by The Venerable Judy Walton, Archdeacon Emeritus

Easter 2

ACPO Spring 2014

My Friends, I speak to you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen

In my time in ministry, I have been privileged to preach in several different churches. Some have been large and some have been small, some have been Anglican and others not. But no matter where I have been, I have discovered that there are certain things that unite churches. The clergy tend to act like clergy no matter where they are. Most of the churches enjoy pot-luck suppers and chopped egg sandwiches and the fellowship that eating together brings. But for many that is where the similarity ends. In many other ways, they really don’t have much in common. They gather in vastly different circumstances, there is no common architecture. They worship differently. Some are low church, some high, some evangelical, charismatic or Anglo Catholic.

Some of the churches in the Diocese of Toronto seem to have everything. Trinity Streetsville or Trinity Aurora are such churches and I am sure you could name similar churches in the various dioceses which you represent. We have state of the art buildings, sound systems and audio and video technology of exceptional caliber. One has a band on Sundays and a choir quite different from most. They are multi staffed and pride themselves on their programs and their welcoming friendliness.

St John The Divine Chapel where we gather today has a character of it’s own. This building is lovely, with brilliant stained glass windows with millions of pieces of jewel like glass. They have a pipe organ and two pianos, and music thoughtfully chosen and prepared.

What else would you need to have a church?

Robert Schuller of the Crystal Cathedral said that the most important attribute of a church was an accessible, large, fully available parking lot.

Granted, good parking is important, but what else would you need , other than a good parking lot, to have a church?

Today’s gospel gives us a picture of a church that had no pipe organ or even an upright piano. No choir. And only 11 members. In fact it seems to be a picture of the church at it’s worst. And yet, it was the first miserable little conglomeration ever to take upon itself the name “church.”

What I am describing is the disciples of Jesus gathered after his resurrection. Look at them! Throughout the long, painstaking chapters in John’s gospel, Jesus has been preparing the disciples for his departure. He has gone over and over his commandments to love one another, to be bold, to trust him at all costs.

But it would appear that someone wasn’t listening. Look at them. Cowering like frightened children behind closed and locked doors. Lost in their confusion and grief.

They were the ones who were to be walking confidently out into the world, full of the Holy Spirit, announcing the Easter triumph of God. Yet here they are, withdrawn and hurting - hoping that no one discovers where they are. As the church was born in that upper room it was one that was frightened, disheartened and defensive.

What kind of an advertisement might this church put in the Saturday paper to attract members? “The friendly church where all are welcome?” Hardly. Locked doors are not a sign of hospitality. “The church with a warm heart and a bold mission?” Forget it! This was the church of sweaty palms and shaky knees.

Could this even be called a church? Not only is there no sanctuary, there is no pulpit, no choir, no parking lot. More significantly, it has no plan, no mission, no conviction, nothing.

Not long ago, people were asked what they looked for when seeking a place to worship. Some said “friendliness.” Number two was bold interesting preaching. Nobody replied “Locked doors.” “Frightened members.”

Here was a church with nothing going for it except….

Except that, when it gathered, the risen Christ pushed through the locked doors, threw back the bolt, and stood among them.

Maybe that’s every church. Even the ones that don’t have every conceivable modern device, the best preacher in the city, or the beautiful sanctuary and stained glass windows. For the truth is, none of this amounts to anything, if we depend on our own devices, and the impressive props. We are nothing, nothing more than a huddle of questioning, timid, sometimes cowering failures who follow Jesus. Unless, we recognize Jesus in our midst. For it is the Presence, His Presence which makes our human gatherings … the church of God.

Have you noticed that in spite of all of the preparation for he service and the concern that goes into the liturgy, some Sundays can come and go with seemingly little impact on the worshippers.

But then on another Sunday, somehow by the grace of God, the Holy Spirit slips through our closed doors, witnesses our plodding through the liturgy and there is worship, inspiring worship not of our own creating but worship as a gift. And we want to take off our shoes in awed wonder realizing we stand on Holy Ground and realizing we have finally become the church.

If you want to see us, stripped of our sacred trappings, our pretense peeled away, then look in this 20th chapter of John. There we meet a pitiful, huddle of sad souls, hanging on to one another behind

locked doors. And if the truth be known, some days we are no different.

The good news is that it was to this church, which was hardly a church, that the loving, risen Christ came saying, “Peace be with you”. Into this depressed and empty void, there was a voice, a presence.

You might have thought that Jesus might have come like one of our bishops, bringing a sense of the office and some pomp and ceremony.

But Jesus comes humbly, and says, “Peace be with you,” showing them his hands and his feet. He says again (in case we failed to get the point,) “Peace be with you,” telling them that he is sending them out into the world. Then he breathes on them, giving the Holy Spirit, bestowing upon them the awesome power to forgive sins.

We are the church, not because of the buildings we worship in, not because of the music or the preaching or the many activities that take place and keep us busy. We are the church because to us, even to us, he has come and given us the gifts of the Spirit, the gift of mission, and forgiveness, commissioning us to go into the whole world in his name.

That is why we are called the church.

My first parish was three small churches. I was there for eight years. During that time I began to appreciate how multi point ministry was different. Because of the small size, it was more about relationships than the buildings or the politics, which can exist to a greater extent, in the larger church. However, that did not mean we didn’t have our own unique struggles too. Some days, there would be very few people here, the music would be none existent, and my preaching not the best. And yet in spite of all that, there was a presence there which bonded the folks together in a way that empowered them to be the church in their small communities. I truly believe each of those small churches got intruded upon. I think someone greater than any of us, knocked the lock off the door and kicked it open, and offered us God’s peace, the Holy Spirit and forgiveness. And in those moments we became the church in the best sense of the word. I have to say, I remember moments like that.

You see, the church isn’t about the Rector’s hard work, our earnest efforts, our long range planning, or heavy duty giving. Church is a gift of God’s grace, a visitation, an intrusion of the living Christ standing among us.

Sometimes churches go through very difficult times and it is amazing that they survive. But their survival is testimony to the power of God working with and through God’s people, empowering them with his marvelous gifts to do the work of the church.

And each time as church overcomes the struggles which face all churches at one time or another, their very existence is evidence of the embodiment of the power of God in Christ.

If I might I would like to address the Candidates of ACPO here this week end. In the days ahead some of you will be ordained deacons and eventually priests in God’s Church. Some will go to large parishes and others small congregations. No matter which, what a privilege will be yours. However, in all of the excitement that comes in being called to serve in this manner, we must not loose sight of the fact that no role is greater than another. It matters not if we are the ordained or the laity. By our Baptism we are called to be the church, to offer our differing gifts for the benefit of God’s kingdom here on earth. Should any of you not get the affirmation you seek for priestly ministry this morning, do not despair. God always has a plan for your life. Do not be frightened, do not be concerned, trust in God. To each one of us God offers and brings fullness of joy and his peace. Who can ask for more?

Yes, the church is a gift, a visitation, an intrusion of the living Christ standing among us. Let us be bold and confident in our faith. Let us believe the truth of Christ’s words to his disciples, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me so I send you.” This is every Christian’s mission, lay or ordained, to bring that peace to others, to go into the world, and into our communities, large and small, and be the church, the presence of Christ, where ever we may find ourselves. Amen

This was preached on April 27, 2014 by The Venerable Judy Walton,

Archdeacon Emeritus

The homily preached on Last Sunday of the Epiphany (propers for the Transfiguration) by the Reverend Andrea Budgey

We all, I think, know what it's like to see or hear a familiar person in an unfamiliar context. For most children, seeing a parent at work for the first time, or in some other public context, can be deeply unsettling – all of a sudden, that parent belongs to other people as well. Seeing a friend perform, if it's done well, and with integrity and conviction, can have a similar effect, and of course, for a parent, seeing a child as an autonomous adult and grasping that development fully for the first time, can be both deeply moving and a little disturbing. All these realisations compel us to see people in a new way, to recognise that our own relationships with them are not what defines them, and to renegotiate – even if in subtle ways – how we interact with them henceforward. We enter into a process of transformation.

These are challenges on the scale of ordinary human interactions. I think what we're meant to see, in Matthew's account of the Transfiguration of Jesus, is a cosmically magnified version of that sort of displacement. Until this point in the earthly ministry of Jesus, the disciples have been following him around, occasionally managing to give the right answer to questions like “Who do you say that I am?”, but for the most part demonstrating just how constrained their understanding really is. Their master heals people, performs signs and wonders, and announces the kingdom of God, but I think they still do see him very much as theirs – their teacher, their Lord, the one of whom they have a piece. The three whom he takes up the mountain are suddenly made to see him in a different context: there he stands, with Moses and Elijah – the Law and the Prophets – and a voice which must be that of God says “This is my Son, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased; listen to him!” This, above even those they have been taught to revere. Their vision is transformed, so that they see him radiant with the glory of God, the light which is always there, but which human eyes cannot ordinarily see – the light which represents, in the words of the Orthodox theologian Gregory Palamas, the “energies of God”. Seeing Jesus in such a way, in such a context, shows them that he cannot possibly be defined by their relationship with him, contained within the bounds of their perception or understanding. And it knocks them sideways. The usual Orthodox icon of the Transfiguration depicts this wonderfully – Peter, James, and John are shown sprawling on the mountainside, their feet whisked out from under them. At least one generally seems to be on the verge of tumbling down the slope, and only Peter reaches upward with his absurd suggestion about building booths, searching desperately for some sort of conceptual structure which will enable them to hold on to the vision, to organise what they have been shown into a recognisable pattern.

But there's no way they can do that, not yet, anyway. This moment, this vision, recapitulates the Baptism of Jesus, the first public revelation of his divine identity; it summarises all the signs and wonders which the disciples have seen him do; but it also looks forward. It prefigures his resurrection from the death which none of them are ready to contemplate, and his ascension to glory thereafter, and it prepares them to recognise those moments when they arrive. But the three are not ready yet – that brief flash of vision is all they're granted for the time being, and Jesus tells them to keep even that to themselves until the right moment comes to reveal it. If you're the sort of person who tries to imagine the lives of people in scripture, you can't help wondering how this moment changed their relationship with Jesus: whether it remained at the forefront of their minds, or slid into that place where half-remembered dreams take up residence, while they returned to the pattern of their lives as followers and companions. Were they transformed, there, on the mountainside, or simply made ready for transformation when the fullness of the Incarnation was made clear?

Of course mountaintops are wonderful places for revelation, because in a purely physical way they make so much more of the world visible than a ground-level perspective allows, but moments of transfiguration, as one of my favourite Anglican theologians, Kenneth Leech, puts it, “can and [do] occur ‘just around the corner’... in the midst of perplexity, imperfection, and disastrous misunderstanding.” They can happen when our feet are knocked out from under us and we feel as though we're ready to tumble down a steep slope, when this abrupt shift in perspective allows us to see things from altogether new and disturbing angles. And, as with the disciples, it will probably take us time to work out what transfiguration means.

Because transfiguration, ultimately, is something that happens to us, in Christ The word that's used in Greek is metamorphosis, which is more than a change of shape, or of visible form, but a process of growing from one state of being to another. Orthodox theologians also talk about theosis, the process by which we grow into the life of God. And for us, seeing the Incarnation from the other side of the empty tomb, the whole of our Christian life can guide us into this growth. We may occasionally climb mountains in search of God, but we can also see the face of Christ transfigured in community, and in the people we meet on the street. Our life of worship, when we pause to think about it, is shot through with transfiguration, with metamorphosis. Water becomes the sepulchre through which baptism draws us into resurrected life. We take ordinary things, bread and wine, and offer them to God, and they become, by God’s love and grace, utterly extraordinary. “This is my body, given for you... this is my blood, shed for you...”

 As the Body of Christ, we are witnesses that sacramental transformation can come into the world, has come into the world, into the lives of individuals and of communities. We remember the transfigurations which God has shown us, in scripture, in history, in nature, and in our own experience, and we hold ourselves in readiness to be transformed more and more into the likeness of Christ. And finally, we are called to proclaim, in word but most especially in deed, the love that makes such transformation possible, and to reflect the light of Christ clearly and faithfully to the world God loves.

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 at the funeral for Sister Merle Milligan, SSJD by The Right Reverend Linda Nicholls

Homily

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Funeral: Sr. Merle Milligan, SSJD

Homilist: Bishop Linda Nicholls

From the moment we draw our first breath in this world we are pushed pummelled, shaped and formed by the world around and within us, From the accidents of our birth -family, place & time to the social milieu & world events to the choices of ourselves and others we are formed and at time choose to be formed. Our first hymn today described that process so well…….

The Rt. Rev. Linda Nicholls

Great God, your love has called us here as we, by love, for love were made.

…………

We come with self inflicted pains of broken trust and chosen wrong;

Half free, half-bound by inner chains, by social forces swept along

By powers and systems close confined; yet seeking hope for humankind……

Great God, in Christ you call our name and then receive us as your own

Not through some merit, right, or claim, but by your gracious love alone.

Great God, in Christ you set us free, your life to live, your joy to share,

Give us your Spirit’s liberty to turn from built and dull despair,

And offer all that faith can do while love is making all things new.

And it struck me as we sang it that it described the journey of life that Sr. Merle experienced. In midst of many forces - from the death of her mother at birth to her service in the Second World War to her choice to be formed as a disciple of Jesus through life in the Sisterhood of St. John the Divine - Sr. Merle sought to live faithfully relying on the love of God her creator.

We all do this resting on the certainty of the promises we have heard in scripture, particularly that in John 6. “Everything the Father gives to me will come to me, and anyone who come to me I will never drive away I will never turn away anyone who believes in me….that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life.”

Sr. Merle’s early life - the death of her mother and subsequent shifts among families - were painful - but developed an independence and resiliency in her. Sr. Merle was a woman of strong opinions and not shy about sharing them! Her life choices were those of serving others - from military service as a young woman to her vocation as a nurse in Montreal and at St. John’s Convalescent Home. She was a woman of keen intelligence and abilities as an Administrator and Manager, as a Head Nurse at Montreal General Hospital for several units, as Assistant Administrator at St. John’s Convalescent Home and at the Home for the Aged and Cana Place.

I met Sr. Merle in her later years in retirement and marvelled at her constant interest in world affairs & history. She always knew what was on the front page of the newspaper!

Many have noted that although she often seemed serious she had a lovely smile and sense of humour. She and I shared a common delight - cats! Merle would light up with delight when discussing the vagaries of cat behaviour - and, of course, Sandy was the best! - despite my protestations that mine were. She would also light up when talking about her friendship with the Sonnenburgs, especially when the children came into their lives. She was so grateful to be part of their family. Her latter years were challenging - the residual effects of a case of shingles were frustrating and the losses of aging were not suffered gladly though in recent months she had demonstrated a reconciliation with her situation.

Merle took what life offered and sought to live as a faithful Christian, choosing to serve others and to serve God. She was, in my experience a very private woman about discussing her faith and life. I am not altogether sure what prompted her to come to SSJD - no doubt God’s call in all its mystery. Although private, she showed and lived it through her choices - not perfectly….She could on occasion be frustrating - but which of us is perfect.

So today we come to celebrate her life and commit her into the keeping of God her creator whose deep love and grace sustained her in the midst of the circumstances and situations that shaped her. This is a bittersweet moment. We do experience the grief of her loss from our midst physically yet, in light of the promises of God, know that she has been reunited with God and is home. We heard the affirmations of those promises through the gospel of John - the promise of eternal life. We heard it in 1 John in the passionate witness of the author and in the beautiful passage of Isaiah that paints a vision of the future banquet where death is swallowed up forever and closing affirmation: “This is the Lord for whom we have waited; Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

Today we thank God for the life of Sr. Merle and commit her into the hands of her Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier whose love guided her in the choices of her life. That same God invites us to follow faithfully through our lives. Thanks be to God.

Bishop Linda Nicholls was consecrated on February 2, 2008 and began her ministry as Area Bishop of Trent-Durham on February 15, 2008 .

Linda comes to Episcopal ministry with background as a teacher, parish priest and national staff member.   With university degrees in music and education she taught secondary school music and math for five years at Woodstock International Christian School in Mussoorie , India before exploring a call to ordained ministry.   Her theological education included studies at Ontario Theological Seminary and Wycliffe College before she was ordained deacon in November 1985 and priest in November 1986.   A curacy was served at St. Paul ’s L’Amoreaux Church, Scarborough followed by her appointment as incumbent of the Parish of Georgina (St. James’, Sutton and St. George’s , Sibbald Point).  The Parish of Georgina has the unusual honour of having had three incumbents in series who are all now bishops – Colin Johnson (Toronto), Victoria Matthews (Christ Church, New Zealand) and Linda Nicholls!

In 1991 Linda became the incumbent of the Parish of Holy Trinity, Thornhill where she served until February 2005.   During her parish ministries Linda explored a variety of continuing education courses, including a Certificate in Spiritual Direction, and completed a Doctor of Ministry degree at the University ofToronto in 2002.   Other interests in ministry include a passion for community life, healing ministries and support of Parish Nursing.  From February 2005 to her consecration Linda served in the national office of the Anglican Church of Canada as the Coordinator for Dialogue for Ethics, Interfaith Relations and Congregational Development.  In her ministry as a bishop Linda serves on the Doctrine & Worship Committee of the Diocese; Committee on Religious Orders of the National Church; and the Faith Worship and Ministry Committee for the Anglican Church of Canada.  Linda was appointed in 2011 by the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Anglican Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC).   Music has been an abiding commitment for Linda and she relaxes by singing in a chamber choir or playing piano or flute. Wilderness canoe trips provide a summer hobby. She shares her home with a feline companion who is unimpressed with church pomp & circumstance and keeps her focused on daily maintenance requirements!

“Those who are well do not need a physician..... a sermon preached by the Reverend Maggie Helwig

“Those who are well do not need a physician, but those who are sick.”

The  Reverend Maggie Helwig

We are all of us a mixture of both health and sickness, really. But it is our health that we mostly value. And understandably so – sickness is not something we want to endure, or to have within us. Physical sickness is unpleasant, painful, sometimes terrifying, and sometimes also extremely boring. It is something which narrows us down, flattens our experience into the dull expanse of the world of illness. In theory, we can learn from physical illness, go deeper into our vulnerability, our need for the care of others, the strange joy of receiving that care at kind hands. But for the most part these are things we understand in retrospect. When we are sick, we are mostly just able to be sick.

But of course, it is not physical illness which Jesus is talking about here. The saying comes immediately after his shocking decision to call as a disciple one of the tax-collectors – a collaborator with the occupying Roman forces, a man enmeshed in a profession driven by corruption, greed, intimidation, exploitation. I look at myself and know that I would almost certainly have been one of the people who complained. Lepers and prostitutes, that's one thing, I get that – but people whose very living depends on harming the poor and vulnerable? That is something quite different. Today it might be, let's say, an oil executive. An arms dealer. A corrupt politician. A high-powered corporate bully.

And yet – Levi came. He left his table, he turned. He was capable of that turning. Something within him recognized his sickness as sickness, must always have somehow recognized it, and could reach out for health. He had always been capable – if only there were someone to see that in him, someone who could say to him, “Come. Now. Change. Now,” as if it were possible. And it became then possible, and his world opened up. When we are sick, we are only able to be sick, in that flat world of repetition. But when we turn towards healing, possibility enters once again.

We want to offer our goodness to God; and it's entirely reasonable that we do. Like a child offering a drawing or some cheap scented soap to a beloved parent, we want to give our best gifts, the places where we are strong, the times when we are creative and loving and generous. We do not want to go to God with the sickness of the tax collector in our hands. We do not want to offer our selfishness, our greed, our misery, our compromises. It hurts even to look at these things in ourselves, much less to present them as our offerings. But these must be our gifts, must be in some way our best gifts. We take these bad things, these broken parts of our souls, these knots of spiritual sickness, and we lay them down. We put them before the God who is our physician and our medicine, as honestly as we can, and ask for some kind of healing. Ask that all these things be made, somehow, slowly and strangely, into something better, into something good. And perhaps we will only understand it retrospect, will only see then that the gift we offered became at that moment the gift we were being given.

And at the same time, part of our vocation is to call others to healing; not because we are all better, but just as we are, we hope, being healed ourselves. And sometimes this means calling out the sickness. The God who comes to us where we are failing and broken does not do so in order to leave us exactly where we started, but to make us all stand up from our tables, and turn. And we may need, here and now, to be God's agents in that call. Sometimes it is gentle and personal and individual, but sometimes it means challenge, it means going to those oil executives and saying, this, this societal dependence on fossil fuels, this ravaging of our earth, this privileging of short-term economic gain over the well-being of future generations, this is not good, this is not well, this is not the way of health. But we must do it in the belief that they can indeed change, that we are there not just to reprimand, and never to reject, but to say, as one sick soul to another, that it is not too late. That we can change, that God comes to these parched places, that we can be the repairers of the breach, that we can all heal together. For that great healer who comes for the sick comes, thereby, for us all.

The  Reverend Maggie Helwig was appointed priest-in-charge of St. Stephen- in- the- Fields in Toronto  in May 2013.

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

Homily for the Feast of Hannah Grier Coome given by Sr. Debra, Feb. 9, 2014

Mother Hannah

I don’t know a great deal about the early life of Mother Hannah.  I do know that she was born, Sarah Hannah Roberta Grier on October 28, 1837 in the Carrying Place, Upper Canada.  She was the third daughter and sixth child to the Rev. John Grier and Eliza Lilias Geddes.  Her father came from Ireland in 1823 and was ordained a deacon and priest at the Anglican Cathedral in Quebec. I don’t know a great deal about her mother but her older sister Miss Rose Grier was at one time Principal of Bishop Strachan School here in Toronto.  

I wonder about the early years of Mother Hannah.  Specifically I wonder what her early childhood, school days and teen age experiences were like.  While I imagine that she faced the everyday challenges of growing up -— I like to believe that life with her family gave her an awareness of being rooted and grounded in the love of Christ.  I expect that her parents passed on to her and her siblings their knowledge of the love of God.  Perhaps it was through this knowledge -— and the foundational strength of her initial, familial loving relationship -— that she was given the courage, humor and love of life needed to carry her through her later years.  

She would need the gift of courage strengthened and grounded in love to venture from her home here in Canada, leaving all that was familiar to her --- to travel to Britain with her husband Charles Horace Coome, whom she married on July 23, 1859.  It was while she was in Britain that she was first drawn to the mission work of the Anglican Sisters of St Mary in Wantage. This community would be a great support to her during a lengthy illness following a terrible fall, which caused her to miscarry her one and only child.  It was while she was preparing to return to them a few years later, after the death of her husband, that she first received the call to be the mother foundress of a new community of Anglican Religious in Toronto.  

It was on the grounds of Bishop Strachan School in September 1881 that Mother Hannah was first introduced to the Rev. Ogden P. Ford and Mrs. Broughall.  These two individuals were the first to invite her to consider establishing a religious community for woman in Canada.  Mother Hannah’s older sister Rose had planned a garden party for her on the grounds of the school as a farewell, so she could say goodbye to her friends and mother before returning to England to enter the Anglican Community of St. Mary at Wantage, as a postulant.  She never returned to England but instead entered the community of St. Mary at Peekskill in the United States.  It was there that she received her Religious formation. On September 8, 1884, she made her profession at St. Mary’s and following that service returned to Toronto to become the Rev. Mother for the newly formed Sisterhood of St. John the Divine. To the glory of God and in support of God’s people we are still here, 130 years later. 

To be rooted and grounded in the unconditional love of Christ and to share this love of Christ with all whom we come in contact with, is at the heart of our life together in community.  The readings chosen for this special day reflect this truth.

In our Old Testament reading we are reminded of the great commandment, the Shema, to not only think about God and talk to God but to teach all people to love and obey God by repeating the words of God regularly and by weaving them into the routine of our daily living.  We do this individually through our spiritual duties and corporately in our observance of the daily office.  In this we strive to lead by example. I have grown to love the prayers we say together in ‘the daily office’.  Four times a day we stop what we are doing and go to chapel.  I see this as our corporate ‘check-in’ with God.  

In the passage from Ephesians [3:14-21] , we hear the beautiful words of “Paul’s Prayer for the church”.  This prayer reminds us that Love, unconditional love, lies at the heart of God’s nature and human love is the church’s response to it.  We pray to Abba/ Amma God who has revealed the truth of the divine nature in Christ our Lord.  

“For this reason I bow my knees before God from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. We pray that, according to the riches of Christ’s glory, God may grant that we be strengthened in our inner being with power through the Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in our hearts through faith, as we are being rooted and grounded in love. We pray that we may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God.”  Ephesians 3:14-19

It is through the words found at the end of this passage that we are reminded daily at the end of each Eucharistic feast that the power of God working within us is able to accomplish far more than we can ask or imagine.  It is to God that we look for direction in our lives and for direction in the missions God would have us serve in.  It is the love of God through Christ that sustains us.  So what-so-ever God says unto us we strive in love, with  God’s help, to do.

It never ceases to amaze me that we can read a passage of scripture over and over and over again and still discover something new that we did not see before.  The gospel reading for today offers us the familiar image of Christ as the vine -- the core from which we -- the branches -- receive all we need to bear gospel fruit in this world.  I admit that while I love this image, it is an image that has disturbed me.  I don’t always bear good fruit.  More than once I have thought that without a doubt I will be one of the branches that God eventually gets fed up with and throws into the fire, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.  This passage doesn’t express the latter part of this particular train of thought.  It is just where my head automatically goes.   

In reading this gospel passage for today I discovered these words, ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. 2He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes* to make it bear more fruit. 3You have already been cleansed* by the word that I have spoken to you. 4Abide in me as I abide in you. (John 15:1-4) Did you catch it?  Jesus said he Abba /Amma God, removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  I forget that if we are made in the image of God and we learn and develop and grow, then God also must learn and develop and grow. While Jesus is talking to us, I believe -- in this passage -- he is also talking about himself.   

While Christ was in fact both God and a human being, he came to earth as a child so he too would know what it was like to live this life so that we would know through his incarnation, life, death and resurrection that there would be no place we might go, no experience that we might have that he himself did not have before us.  God’s love for us reflected in Christ’s love for us is a perfect love.  Perfect love casts out all fear.  Perhaps even the fear of being certain that “I” will ultimately be the one of the branches that is eventually cut off.

So what else might this passage mean?  I believe it means that the things we say to ourselves, the actions we take, the messages we receive from others that are not life-giving, are what are cut off.  The things that are life-giving and life-sustaining, the glimpses of Gospel truth that we take in, the experiences of God’s love revealed to us in sacred texts and through the actions of empathy and kindness offered to us by others – these are the things within us that are continually being cared for and fussed over by God.  These are the branches within us that are being pruned, molded and shaped and which help us to grow into the image of Christ, so that the fruit we bear will be lif- giving and life-sustaining fruit, not only for ourselves but also for others.  

I have discovered living here at the convent as a sister that unconditional love allows us to make mistakes, so that we can learn and grow from those mistakes.  At the end of our gospel reading today we hear these words:  12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants* any longer, because the servant* does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.’ (John 15:12-17) 

The intention of this community that is found at the very beginning of our Rule says this, “The Sisters of St. John the Divine, in the spirit of their patron are called to live to the glory of God in fulfillment of the two fold law of love.”  (Love of God and love of neighbour and self.)  

Certainly Mother Hannah was a fine example for each one of us as a branch which bore much fruit. Although I don’t know a great deal about the early years of Mother Hannah I like to believe that the awareness she received as a child of being rooted and grounded in the love of Christ, which was foundational and formational in her life, is one of the fruits she has passed to and through the Sisters of this community. 

Mother Hannah’s vision and initiative along with the vision and initiatives of the sisters working with

her and who have come after her, led to the creation of hospitals, church homes for the aged, schools in various parts of the country and the development of schools for children with special needs. Where there was a need she responded.  When the need no longer existed because others took on the various ministries that were begun, then new ministries, new locations, new branch houses were opened and Christ’s work of love continued on for 130 years.

On this day when we give thanks for the life and ministry of our Mother foundress, it is fitting that we take this time to remember and give thanks to God.  As we reflect both on the witness she provided for the people of her day and the example she continues to set for us now, we hope that we too may be rooted and grounded in love and that others may experience the unconditional acceptance and love of God through us.  Amen.