Homily for the Feast of St. John in Eastertide preached by The Reverend Frances Drolet-Smith, Oblate/SSJD

May 6, 2016

 

John 20: 1 – 8        1 John 1:1-9

 

Have you noticed in the resurrection narratives, that there are a lot of people running in these stories? They are either running from the tomb, to the tomb, or back to and forth from, the tomb. 

 

In John’s telling, Mary runs from the empty tomb to find Peter, then he and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, go racing back there, running neck and neck. The other disciple, who in some translations, is also known at the Beloved Disciple, actually beats Peter to the tomb. But then he stops, just at the opening, and Peter goes rushing past him, straight to the finish line inside the tomb.

 

Now, I know it wasn’t actually a race to see who got inside the tomb first. But that tidbit about the Beloved Disciple kind of throwing the race is an interesting bit of detail that the writer of the story thought worth mentioning.

 

While it may seem somewhat comical to us hearing it retold in our own day, all of this running thither and yon speaks to me of the sense of urgency, of the panic, fear, maybe even dread, that those first disciples must have felt, just 3 days after the worst day of their lives. 

 

Mary Magdalene had been first on the scene, and when she discovers the great stone removed, she imagines the worst and goes in search of Peter (the already perceived leader of the group, despite his denial and disappearance) and she tells him. And so that’s when he and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, scramble back there, jostling one another on the way. Surely we can identify with their eagerness. The evidence that something untoward has happened, is laid before us. Peter enters the tomb first. With the same kind of forensic detail we have come to expect from the myriad of crime shows on television these days, there is a thorough description of the scene: the linen wrappings are there. The cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, isn’t lying with the rest of the linen wrappings but was rather, rolled up in a place by itself.  Then the other disciple also went in.  While the statement doesn’t say so in so many words, it is clear that nothing else is in the tomb.

 

An extremely interesting fact is recorded in the witness statement: the other disciple, who, as has already been established, reached the tomb first, not only went in – he also “saw” (presumably meaning, that there was no body) – and he believed.  However, it’s not immediately clear what it is that he believed.

 

Had we read on another 2 verses to kind of finish the thought or the paragraph, we would have heard that “for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.”

 

These verses make it clear that neither Peter nor the other disciple can as yet comprehend the full implications of what they’ve seen – and they won’t, until they connect it with the scriptures. When they return home to the rest of their company, all they can verify is that the tomb is in fact empty. Although we can infer from other passages in this Gospel of John that what the beloved disciple now believes is that Jesus is who he says he is; verse 9, the verse we didn’t read, suggests that even in this belief, at this point, he lacks the proper context for understanding that what they have witnessed is no mere disappearance – it is resurrection.

 

What we see unfolding here is the very essence of our Christian faith. The resurrection is central to us, for without it, we cannot, with any integrity, gather here and proclaim faith in a God who created us, a God who knows and loves us, who calls us by name and hears our cries, who forgives with redeeming love,  who welcomes us into the fold with loving arms. Our God, the Keeper of Promises.

 

Though there is still some debate as to the dates of when the Gospels were written, they were most assuredly completed before the close of the first century and were therefore written by eyewitnesses or under the direction of eyewitnesses. Likewise the epistles, the letters to the various emerging churches, give us singularly enticing snapshots into the life of early Christians; for they chronicle their maturing faith. In the portion from the first Letter of John we hear a compelling statement from an eyewitness, reflecting on his experience: 

 

“what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— this life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it; so that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.”

 

Imagine receiving that on a postcard from Ephesus on one of those days when your faith is weak and your resolve faltering? Imagine receiving that message of joy and encouragement on a day when your faith is strong and your hope buoyant. Wow! What a difference it would have made.

 

Eugene Peterson says that “we Christians are stationed at a crossroads. As people of an Easter faith, we are here to affirm the primacy of life over death, to give a witness to the connectedness and preciousness of all life, to engage in the practice of resurrection.”

 

This idea of practicing resurrection comes from a poem by Wendell Berry. He writes: “every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.” What if we were to really live this faith we profess? What if we were to really believe – and trust with that first century zeal?

 

Today we celebrate this Feast of St. John, the Beloved disciple, who saw – and believed – and practiced resurrection by living fully into the faith he professed. We also celebrate and givethanks for this Community of Sisters which bears the name of the Beloved disciple, and with those who today make initial promises, with one who renews her promises, and another who makes her life promises as Oblates of this Sisterhood. Together with Associates and many friends, and indeed the whole world, we share the joy of the Resurrection and of our common life together. Amen. Alleluia!

 

The Rev. Frances Drolet-Smith, Oblate, SSJD

"Community and Healing" - Homily for Easter 6c - Oblate Triennial Conference

St. John’s Convent, May 1, 2016
Homilist: Sr. Constance Joanna SSJD

Readings:  Acts 16.9-15    Psalm 67   Revelation 21.10,22 - 22.5   John 5.1-9

It is wonderful to have this amazing family altogether for a week. I have heard both Sisters and Oblates comment that it’s a bit like a family reunion, and it’s true. It’s a family has changed and grown over the past three years. We have lost some dear Oblates, including those who were among the very first. We have lost some Sisters too. But we have gained new Oblates, and new Sisters. Our Alongsider program is healthy, and we are looking forward to welcoming both new Alongsiders and the first crop of Companions in September. The Spirit is surely moving among us.

And we see that movement of the Spirit quite dramatically in our readings for this morning – readings that speak to us of community, of growth, and of healing. Growth and healing (whether individual or corporate) always take place in community. And that is a truth that goes back to the Hebrew scriptures, when God established a covenant with the Jewish people. The theme of covenant community – or intentional community as it’s often described today – is woven throughout the Hebrew scriptures and comes to a new flowering in the New Testament.

The gospel narrative today is about community, or more accurately, about a man who is without community but finds it with Jesus. The man has been sick for many years. Because he has no friends or family to help him, he is unable to get into the pool which has the healing waters. No one has reached out to help him.

When Jesus asks him if he wants to be made well, the man does what so many of us do – instead of saying “Yes!” he gives reasons why he cannot be healed – no one will help him be the first to get into the water when it is stirred up, he says. What does he mean? Well, the story behind the Pool of Siloam is that every so often an angel stirs up the water to make it turbulent, and the first person to get into it is the one who is healed. The image of turbulent water is a potent one in scripture. It is always associated with generativist, healing, and new life. And it’s a major theme in some of the key stories of the Easter Vigil – the creation story in Genesis when the Spirit of God moves over the face of the water, the story of Noah and the flood, of Jonah on the turbulent sea, of the Exodus. Today’s story reminds me also of Jesus calming the storm at sea – a story that so captured the imagination of the gospel writers that we actually have 6 different variations on it in the different gospels.

The healing properties of the pool at Beth-zatha and the importance of the water being disturbed is a clue that something important is going to happen to the sick man. But interestingly the healing happens without the aid of the water.

True miracles happen when we become aware of the presence of God in our lives. And that is what happens to this sick man. The promise of the turbulent water hasn’t helped him. For 38 years he has waited his turn to get into the pool when it is stirred up, and he has never made it. But the miracle happens when God walks into his life in the person of Jesus. He doesn’t even need to get into the water. We might think he has missed a kind of baptism. But the presence of Jesus trumps all ceremony, all magical beliefs about angels stirring up the waters. It even trumps the sacraments.

Jesus simply ignores the water and says to the man, “Stand up, take up your mat and walk. “The man obeys. He trusts Jesus, and simply does what he is asked. At once he is healed. And because he is healed he no longer has to depend on his illness. He no longer has to beg. He is one of those people who discovered how following Jesus brought him into a community of love, where the healing power of Jesus has a ripple effect far beyond even the examples we have in the gospels.

The early church began like that, with a group of friends and disciples who tried to follow the way of Jesus after the resurrection, and that’s why we read from the Book of Acts during the Easter season. The community of the first Christians was not so different from this little band of disciples here in this chapel this morning. It wasn’t so different from loving families, or strong parish communities in which people care for each other as well as those outside the church. The early Christians became Christ for one another. They brought resurrection to one another. They allowed God to work in them and through them. And that is where the miracles come in. When we have our eyes open, we can see the presence of God everywhere, and when we are aware of the presence of God in our lives, then we can be open to being healed ourselves and also open to bring that healing love of God into the lives of others.

Today’s reading from Acts describes a dramatic example of that. After the resurrection, the disciples had focussed primarily on spreading Jesus’ message within the Jewish community, and Peter was a leader in that mission. But then along came Paul, a Jew and a Roman citizen, and once he was converted to Christianity, he felt a strong call to share the gospel with the gentiles – those outside the Jewish community. So in today’s reading it’s significant that Paul has a vision – a message from that Holy Spirit really – that he should go to Macedonia, in Greek or gentile territory.

When Paul and his companions come into Macedonia, they go to a place of prayer down near the river (there’s that water again!), and find a group of women there with their leader, Lydia. We are told that “the Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul,” she and her household were baptized, and she invited Paul and his companions to come and stay at her home. Lydia was a mother, the spiritual head of a household that would have included a large extended family, probably not a nuclear family as we might envision it’s the number of people who were baptised was probably quite large. Lydia was responsible for that extended family, that new Christian community. She was also a merchant, we are told, a dealer in purple cloth. Like so many mothers of today, she had to multitask, looking after children, a large household, and her business. Even more, she was a missionary of sorts, helping to spread the gospel to the people in Macedonia, and undoubtedly getting other women in her circle involved in making the church inclusive of gentiles.

What does this have to say to us in the church today? I think it is a call to us to get outside our comfort zone, to take our part in making our Christian communities welcoming and inclusive places – even more, reaching out beyond our communities to those outside the church.

And in all of this, Jesus is here in our midst. All we have to do is recognize him. He is here in the faces of each other. He is here in the love we share with each other and those who share our journeys through life. In a special way he is here in the bread and wine of the Eucharist. Unlike the man by the pool of Beth-zatha, we do not now see Jesus in the flesh. But we know him in his risen body, and so we celebrate his presence in the sacrament of thanksgiving – the Eucharist. And we pray for healing and unity – in ourselves, in our churches and communities, in our world. As we receive the bread and wine of the sacrament we anticipate that time when the sacraments are superseded by Jesus himself.

In the reading from the book of Revelation John gives us a vision of that time.

I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb... 

This vision of the holy city, without a temple, without sacraments, with only the presence of God and the tree of life – is a vision of a restored Eden, but more than that, a vision of the unity, reconciliation, and peace that we so long for in our world and so desperately need to pray for. I’d like to end with a prayer for the fulfillment of that vision, taken from the last verse of my favourite Eucharistic hymn. 

So, Lord, at length when sacraments shall cease,
may we be one with all thy Church above,
one with thy saints in one unbroken peace,
one with thy saints in one unbounded love;
more blessèd still, in peace and love to be
one with the Trinity in Unity.

At the Foot of the Cross

The following was written by the Rev. Canon C. Russell Elliott who lives in Wolfville, N.S. He has had a long and creative ministry; nearing his 99^th birthday, he is still active and sharing his faith and love with all he meets. He has had a long association with the Sisterhood. His wife bore his first two children – boy and girl twins – at the hospital in Springhill, N.S. in the 1940s under the capable management of Sister Anna, SSJD. He has been a faithful Associate of SSJD for over 70 years.

We print the following with Fr. Elliott’s permission and with thanksgiving to him.

AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS

Whatever else Lent may include it is inevitable that eventually I stand at the foot of the Cross. The Book of Common Prayer indicates that from the fifth Sunday onwards is Passiontide, fixing attention upon the Cross, its pain and promise, the Collect or daily prayer asking simply that God may “mercifully look upon thy people”. On Good Friday I am still standing at the foot of the Cross in profound prayer. I feel those eyes looking down upon me, now from the Cross. There are no words, there are no names, there are no reproaches, there are no promises. Yet I hear them all, I know what they tell me. I listen with my heart, I hear deep in my soul, I feel in my inmost being. I am shattered and torn apart, I am burned and battered, I cannot die and I dare not live.

That Man on the Cross, I once saw him weeping over the city – Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how I tried to draw you safely, like a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you would not come. He once told disciples, like me, that he is the first in a new kingdom, though there is no first there, all are free to care for everyone else – he even told Pilate that the kingdom is not of this sinful world. I heard him rebuke Peter, and me, for superficial loyalty. I saw him weep again when the death of Lazarus so deeply touched the heart of the sister. This morning I heard him promise to a thief – to me too? – ‘thou shalt be with me’. As the eyes closed and the head dropped, I heard a voice, from somewhere, maybe from my own throat: Make no mistake, this man is the Son of God.

From wherever my own today’s personal Golgatha is, I find my quiet way to my home. The original Lent measured forty hours from death on the Cross to life at first Easter appearance. My soul counts quietly from darkness to light, from death to life. In the Garden, if I hear a voice call my name, as He once spoke to Mary, I know that all is well between us once more.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

Maundy Thursday March 24, 2016 by Sr. Debra Johnston, SSJD

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. 

I expect that the Passover meal that Jesus ate with his disciples in that upper room on that last day before his betrayal, trial, crucifixion and death must have held an atmosphere that was similar to that of the first Passover that Moses ate with his dear ones in Egypt. As we recall that first Passover, I imagine that in the midst of hopeful anticipation for a better future, there would have also been felt, an underlying tension. While seated at table secure in the knowledge that the lintels of their homes were marked with the lamb’s blood. While confident that the angel of death would pass over their dwellings, I wonder --- were they able to hear the death cries of the Egyptians. 

Originally there had been the nine plagues. Had each of them ended with a promise broken? Regardless of what had been, a wondrous and terrible thing was happening around those first 12 tribes on that night. That wondrous yet terrible thing would ultimately result in the Pharaoh finally letting the people go. It would also result in the deaths of the entire first born of Egypt. Life and Death; this is the paradox of the Cross. It is the paradox of the Passion. Christ has died, Christ is Risen, Christ will come again! 

History reveals that the Exodus was not without hardship. I realize what a total and complete understatement this is! Freedom for the people of Israel would come through an experience of the wilderness that would require them to journey through the difficulty of learning a new way of being. Physically they had been liberated; it would take a longer time, --- perhaps 40 years, probably longer -- for their minds to be liberated from thinking as slaves to living as free. History also reveals that God gave the Israelites tools to help them in their transformation. These same tools have been handed down through the ages and given to us. Recall that it was shortly after Israel’s departure that Moses was given the Ten Commandments. It was by these commandments that they were to live. Among other things these commandments were intended to help transform and more clearly define their relationship to God and their relationships with one another. God’s signature of love for all God’s people was revealed ‘in, with and around’ the Ten Commandments. 

I have to confess that when I was preparing for tonight and thinking of the Exodus and the hardships that the people of Israel had faced and would continue to face. My mind also moved to the people of our time. Most of us in the western world cannot comprehend the fears, injustice and abuses that are faced by much of our world’s population. For the most part we live in safety with freedom.

I found myself envisioning God giving the Ten Commandments to Moses and then I envisioned the tablets themselves. I saw that these specific instructions from God to God’s people, contained life. They revealed the kind of support for all life that I believe God’s wants us all to share in. 

As I thought of this I recalled a scene in the movie ‘Schindler’s List’. This movie is a true representation of the life of Oskar Schindler. He was a business man who believed that he would take advantage of the economic situation in Germany at the beginning of the Second World War. His motives at the beginning of the movie were purely selfish. However as he learned what was happening to the Jewish people around him, he provided work for them in his factories. His factories became a place of refuge and safety for them. 

At one point Schindler was negotiating to have his factory workers moved to a new munitions factory, (One that would never produce weapons that actually worked) when their train was rerouted to Gross-Rosen and Auschwitz concentration camps. When Schindler heard of this he took all of the money he had made and bought the freedom for the people who had worked for him in his factories.

Itzhak Stern was Oskar Schindler’s right hand man. He was the one who helped Schindler compile the list of names. It wasn’t until the list was almost complete that Stern realized that Schindler was in fact paying for the lives of each individual on the list. It was then that Stern held up the list and with his hand gently circling its perimeter said, “The list is an absolute good. The list is life. All around its margins lies the gulf.” In total there were 1,200 names of men, women and children on the list. 

Maundy is an English form of the Latin word for commandment. The primary theme for today is Jesus’ new commandment to ‘love one another. 

On this night we remember that on the night before our Lord’s crucifixion Christ by his actions, --- instituted command --- and words, revealed a new unconditional signature of God’s love for all. It came when Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, tied a towel around him-self, poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet, --- it came in his gift of bread and wine, his body and blood --- and it came when Jesus said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” Jesus’ love for his followers was and is a transformative love. It is demonstrated both in his example of servant hood and in his gift of himself in Holy Communion. When Christ commands us to love one another as he has loved us, his command is that our love toward one another ought also to be a transformative love. 

Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.” The mission of the first disciples, of the early church and for us is to emulate for one another, even in the midst of confusion, chaos, our own fears, hatred and death this divine, transformative love. Our Lord knew that like the people of Israel, his followers in every generation would ultimately --- at some point along the way --- experience a spiritual wilderness that would require them to journey through the difficulty of learning a new way of being. Each generation is called to learn and embrace the new way of being that is revealed to us in our Lord’s command to love. Every time we encounter another individual the Christ love within us ought to affect change. It is not by our own merit that this happens; it is by our willingness to let Christ work through us that this happens. 

Tonight we remember that as their ancestors had done so many centuries before Jesus in his time, with his dear ones also gathered for the Passover meal. They gathered with hope and anticipation for a better future yet in the midst of the underlying tensions of their time. 

We too gather in this place, in this troubled time, with Christians around the world, looking to God in trust and hope, and with thanksgiving. We know that the paradox of the cross and passion of our Lord remains and we believe that life and resurrection is victorious even in the midst of this paradox. 

For us, it was on this night that the Passover feast became the feast of our Lord. It is in this sacramental feast of our Lord’s body and blood that we participate most intimately in Christ’s love. Remembering our Lords Last Supper with his disciples, we eat the bread and share the cup of this meal. Together we receive the Lord’s gift of himself and participate in that new covenant which makes us one in Christ. The Eucharist is the promise of the great banquet we will share with all the faithful when our Lord returns, the culmination of our reconciliation with God and each other. Christ has died, Christ is Risen, Christ will come again! 

In this Lenten season we have heard our Lord’s call to intensify our struggle against, sin death, and the devil – all that keeps us from loving God and each other. This is the struggle to which we were committed at Baptism; God’s forgiveness and the power of God’s spirit to amend our lives continue with us because of God’s transformative love for us in Jesus, our Saviour. Amen.

Homily for Lent 3c - God the Gardener

God the Gardener 
Homilist: Sr. Debra SSJD

Readings:  Isaiah 55:1-9   •  Psalm 63   •  1 Corinthians 10:1-13  •  Luke 13:1-9 

Inch by inch, row by row 

Gonna make this garden grow 

All it takes is a rake and a hoe 

And a piece of fertile ground 

 Inch by inch, and row by row 

God will bless these seeds we sow

 God will warm them from below 

When God’s tears come tumblin' down

Songwriter: David Mallett 

(second verse paraphrase Sister Debra SSJD) 

My Aunty Dot was one of the best gardeners I ever knew. She loved the land and she tended it. She knew every plant intimately. As a child I used to like to stroll through the gardens in the evening with her. We would walk along the rows and every now and then she would reach down to take some soil in her hand. She would sift it through her fingers and encourage me to do the same. Another time she would bend down to lovingly touch the leaf of a plant or to encourage a bug along its way. Her touch was so gentle. I remember the comments she would make, her voice was soft and she would smile with a glint in her eye, “Oh those potato bugs they’re at it again.” Or, “That creeping charley, I wish it would creep right out of here.” Still everything has its place in the garden. If there were no weeds, we would have no job.

 Now, I am not a gardener. My interest on those walks was not so much the plants as it was simply being present with my Aunty Dot. I knew intuitively that my Aunty Dot loved me and was as present with me, and as in tuned with me, as she was with the stuff of the land that she loved.

 I received a deep sense of acceptance, peace, encouragement and hope from my Aunty Dot as we walked among those rows of carrots, potatoes and beans. Those early evening strolls became an oasis. They were if you will a coming to the water time for me.

 In the book of the prophet Isaiah we hear these words, “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters, and you that have no money, come, buy and eat.” “Listen carefully to me and eat what is good. Incline your ear and come to me. Listen so that you may live.” In this passage, Isaiah is speaking words of comfort and hope to the exiled people of Israel. He is encouraging them to come and eat the good food that is being freely offered to them by God. This food is the Word of God; the promise of God.

The situation that the people of Israel find themselves in made it difficult for them to hear the Word of God and feel God’s presence among them. These were tough times for the people. They were a conquered, deported nation, living on the edge of the Babylonian empire. Pain, fear and uncertainty were the order of the day. This was not a “feel good about yourself time in their lives”. They needed to hear a Word of comfort and grace. Isaiah, on behalf of God offered them the assurance that they were not alone. Isaiah proclaimed that God was with them, God’s Word was all around them. They were to do everything in their power to listen to God.

God, understanding the desperate nature of their particular thirst for peace, invited them to come to the water where they could be refreshed and where they could also feed upon God’s grace.

If we can accept that the true nature of God is to offer comfort to the hurting, water to the thirsty, and rest to the weary than we can also accept the words that Christ spoke to those who came asking about the Galileans that Herod had had slaughtered and the eighteen individuals who had died when the tower of Siloam had fallen on them.

The people wondered what the Galileans and the 18 individuals had done to warrant such tragic punishment. Jesus understood that the inquires questions were not based on any kind of remorse or concern for the ones who had died, it was based on simple curiosity and a healthy dose of cultural insensitivity. Jesus said, if fact they did nothing wrong. And in Christ like fashion he told them a story. The story is told of a vineyard owner, a fig tree and a gardener.

See this fig tree; it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. Fig trees are supposed to produce figs, but this tree wasn’t. It wasn’t following the rules of a fig tree. And so the vineyard owner came in, angry at the tree for its lack of production, and called for the tree to be completely uprooted, chopped up and used for firewood. After all, this was a good for nothing fig tree. It did nothing but take up space, take valuable nutrients from the soil and waste the vineyard owner’s time. The vineyard owner of this particular vineyard wanted a fig tree that was a maker and not a taker. 

Having heard the story we ask, “Where is God in this story?” Do we view the nature of our Creator God through the lens of the vineyard owner, or through the lens of the gardener? We already understand that we are the fig tree.

If we see God through the lens of the vineyard owner, that we conclude that the nature of the Divine is a nature that punishes us for not doing what we are supposed to do, who sends tragedy and calamity our way when we mess up and who is always waiting to pounce on us; angry at our sin, our lack of production, and our lack of fruitfulness?

 If in fact we see God as the vineyard owner, how do we also see Jesus? If God is the vineyard owner and Jesus is the gardener do we view the primary role of our Lord as standing between us an abusive father’s rage, saying, give them one more chance, one more year to get their stuff together.

I believe the vineyard owner reflects the wisdom of the world. This is a wisdom that measures value in how good we are and how well we follow the rules. It is a wisdom that says our value is in how much we produce for the vineyard owner, how much profit we make for the person in charge, how much we are perceived as putting out for families, congregations, and communities. It is a wisdom that says if you are not a maker, then you are a taker and so you are a good for nothing. It is a wisdom that sees a vulnerable tree and demands that it be uprooted and thrown into the fire.

Actually I believe God is the gardener who says no to the wisdom of the world.

Homily by Sr Debra SSJD

God is the gardener who proclaims value not in terms of what we have, what we have done, or how good or bad we have been. God the gardener tells us, “All that doesn’t matter. What matters is how much God cares for us. What matters is that God loves us as we are.”

And so in this passage we come to understand that God cared so much for us that not only was God not going to send punishment down on us for mistakes made, that God not only was not going to uproot us when life seems to have sapped everything from us, but if fact our creator God was going to get down in the dirt, in the muck, in the hard places with us and there we would come to know God in the person of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ.

And so Jesus encouraged the people, in the midst of the news of tragedy, not to look to place blame on the victims of violence, the victims of hunger, the victims of poverty, the victims of grief, the victims of suffering. He instructed them not to try to explain away tragedy by finding a convenient place to put the blame for it. And he demanded that they not put this on God. Our God is not a vineyard owner who has come to get even.

In fact, amid tragedy, if we want to find God, we are to look where the suffering is because God is there suffering with us. This is the message of the Incarnation. God is with us in all things and through all things. In this parable, Jesus is telling us that God, when we feel most lifeless and hopeless and worthless, isn’t going to leave or forsake us or send us to the fires. Rather, God is entering into our lifelessness, hopelessness and worthlessness with compassion and love. God sees us and desires to raise us up from the dirt and give us peace. God is always working with us, tending the soil and creating life where life has been damaged and where lifelessness abounds.

 As a child, I used to stroll through the garden in the evening with my Aunty Dot. As we would walk along she would reach down and take some soil in her hands. She would speak softly. She was the best gardener I ever knew; ---- actually, maybe not the best. Amen.

Epiphany - January 6, 2016

Epiphany 2016 - 25th Life Profession Anniversary – Sr. Constance Joanna
Homilist: Bishop Linda Nicholls

Say the word, Epiphany, in a church context and everyone has memories, images and ideas that leap to mind

 from relief that Christmas is over and a new Year has begun,
 to memories of bath-robed children in ill-fitting crowns tripping down the aisle of a pageant,
 to paper stars and singing ‘We Three Kings’,
 to feeling a sense of delicious excitement that Jesus – as a babe – was recognized by these foreign strangers – a promise and sign of his reach to all the world. 

Yet these are very Western Christian memories. Epiphany was once the primary celebration of the incarnation before separating Christmas and Epiphany and the revelation of Christ at Epiphany was attached far more to the baptism of Jesus alongside the visit of the magi and the wedding at Cana as signs of Christ’s universal reach – a focus that remains in Eastern Christian traditions while we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord on the following Sunday. In Ireland (according to Wikipedia!) Epiphany is known the Women’s Christmas – when they rested and gathered to celebrate, hosted by others (I rather like that one!). In parts of Europe Epiphany incorporates an ice cold plunge into frigid waters – sometimes ducking in 3 times as a sign of the Trinity and washing of sins. Epiphany is known and remembered in many ways….. with the primary focus always the revelation of Christ.

But today I want to let light shine through another aspect of Epiphany as we celebrate it in the context of this 25th Anniversary of Sr. Connie’s life profession in this community. For in the stories of both Christmas and Epiphany there is the element of lives changed when the revelation of Christ is personally received in the midst of following one’s vocation. Lives that become a sign for others even when many pay no attention. For the birth of Jesus hardly caused a ripple for most people – did the owner of the manger even notice the new baby? If he did – was it more than just a ‘congratulations’ – and ‘When are you leaving?’. It is clear that no one else noticed – Herod had to summon his priests to see whether scripture could shed light on the magi’s question of where to find the king!

 Yet, shepherds in the fields – following their calling – their vocation – were curious enough; open enough; to wonder as they heard the angels and seek out the child. They were amazed, told their story & glorified God ….and were changed. The magi – astronomer/astrologers from the east – were following their calling – their vocation – when the event of the star called them to undertake a long, undoubtedly arduous journey into a foreign land. They arrive and offer expensive gifts – seeing in this child, in an obscure village, the King the star had indicated in their understanding of the skies. We love these stories – they are full of very human details but also of almost magical elements that indicate their place as symbolic of much more – a star that stops over a house; strangers travelling long journeys to greet a baby; rough shepherds hearing angels in a field. They tell us that the encounter with Christ is for everyone – and is found in the midst of our daily work and vocation and will change us – will call us to do things we never imagined and teach us to see the world through the eyes of God.

Epiphany may be the outward revelation of Christ to the world – as symbolized by the visit of the magi; the baptism in the Jordan; the wedding at Cana – but it is also the revelation to very specific people – shepherds, magi, you and me - and Connie. Through the gospel stories we see people who meet Jesus and are changed – Zaccheus; Samaritan Woman; the sick; Matthew; James & John & Peter & all the disciples….begin lifelong journeys that they could never have imagined. Some we only hear encountered Jesus once, but others are changed by their repeated engagement with him – especially the disciples.

For us too – it is not a once in a lifetime experience – but one that continually - daily - calls us in the midst of our vocation – sometimes into new ones – sometimes into more depth of one already chosen. In fact, Epiphany is the lifelong process of encountering and re-encountering Jesus and responding. 

Connie encountered Jesus in her family in another Christian tradition - then called as a teacher – sharing the joy of literature and growing in her faith through her life in the parish of the Episcopal Church and community. Her encounter with Christ however grew in her into a different kind of commitment – a call to live out her recognition of Him through life in this religious community – and within the community to living it out in different responsibilities for community life. Could she have imagine that her response would lead her from teaching English in a university to hospital administration, to stewardship development, to overseeing this community as Reverend Mother, to creating a space for young women to explore their vocation and encounter Christ afresh! Could she ever imagined all that?

Epiphany is the icon of the celebration of the continuous revelation of Jesus as Lord that invites our response as we grow and deepen in understanding. It is simply reflected in the final verse of the hymn – In the Bleak Midwinter….

 What shall I give him? Poor as I am.
 If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.
 If I were a wise man I would do my part….
but what I have I give him – Give my heart. 

Epiphany invites us to recall the revealing of Christ to the world in different ways – from the universal as seen in the visit of the magi to the very particular – our own hearts and vocation. We celebrate the ways in which Connie has responded to that revelation – in offering her life, her heart, her gifts of talents and leadership through the visible witness of religious community. This is not the end – but simply a moment to rest and give thanks! Before carrying on ….opening heart and mind to encounter Christ again – and be led to new adventures in this life of faith.

 Thanks be to God!

Christmas 2 and St. Thomas Beckett - 3 January 2016

HOMILY, CHRISTMAS 2 and ST. THOMAS BECKETT
St. John’s Convent, January 3, 2016
Sr. Constance Joanna

 Readings for Christmas 2:

• Sirach 24:1-12   / Wisdom 10:15-21 (CP 392) /  Ephesians 1:3-14 /  John 1:10-18 

I can hardly start this homily without stating the obvious: that 25 years ago today I made my life profession of vows in this community. The 6 1/2 years that led up to that date, and the 25 years since, have brought untold blessings to me and perhaps the greatest blessing of all has been to learn the ambiguity of darkness and light – that what seems most dark, fearful, and foreboding in life may hold the germ of the brightest light, and that that what seems easy and enjoyable and satisfying may bring with it the darkness of stuckness and lack of growth.

Seeds germinate in darkness, and too much light too fast or too early can kill tender young shoots. Too little light can stunt growth. I think of that line from Psalm 139: “darkness and light to you are both alike.” God uses both darkness and light to nudge us out of complacency and self-satisfaction toward the self-giving that we long for but are afraid of. And God uses both light and darkness to bring us to a healthy self-love and confidence as well.

Another way of saying this is that as Christians we give ourselves to the paschal mystery in which life leads to death and death leads to rebirth. That cycle is what the Incarnation really is about. God gave up divine life to take on human flesh, lived among us, was executed as a traitor, and rose again to give us new life. The Nativity is not synonymous with the Incarnation – it’s just the beginning. And my journey to Life Profession and since has been an adventure in learning the truth of this.

The reading this morning from the Prologue to the Gospel of John, is read multiple times during the Christmas season, and each time it carries deeper meaning. Reading it today, on the second Sunday of Christmas, and on the third of January, I can’t help but see its relevance to the life of Thomas Beckett, whose martyrdom we observe today.

John says of the Word made Flesh: “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

The darkness can never overcome the light, finally, although Thomas Becket had to struggle with the ambiguity of dark and light. In T.S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral, that profound play about the martyrdom of Becket, three tempters come to Becket to try to compromise his absolute obedience to God, mirroring the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness

And then comes an unexpected fourth tempter, who represents the real struggle for Becket – the temptation to martyrdom. Becket knows that Jesus’ death on the cross was not the result of a desire for martyrdom but rather the inevitable outcome of his obedience to God. But he struggles with discerning whether his refusal to give in to the King’s demands is obedience to God that may lead to martyrdom, or an unholy desire to be a martyr? To put it in Thomas’ words in the play, “The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason.” That is perhaps the central discernment for us all – and maybe that is one reason I’m so fond of Thomas. He gives me the courage to live with ambiguity, but to know that ultimately darkness will yield to light.

January 3, 1991 was not a feast day – it was a feria on the church calendar. But then I was given an unexpected gift. A few months after my Life Profession, in April, we had a Community Day and made some changes to our calendar of saints. There used to be a group of special days we observed in the week of Christmas – the feast of St. Stephen, Deacon and first Martyr of the church, was on December 26. St. John of course was on December 27. December 28 was the feast of the Holy Innocents – who might actually be called the first martyrs even before Stephen. And December 29 was the Feast of St. Thomas Becket. We decided at that Community Day to follow the lead of the Canadian church’s new calendar, which moved all those feast days out of Christmas week to make way for the special readings related to Christmas. And so I inherited Thomas Becket on January 3.

But I wish we still kept those martyrs’ feast days in Christmas week because they remind us that the Incarnation is more than Christmas Day, that we are called to follow Jesus in dark and light, life and death.

And I will let Thomas Becket’s own words in his Christmas sermon make this point better than I can. That is, his sermon as T.S. Eliot conceives it, which is said to be based on the actual sermon Beckett preached on Christmas Day in the year 1170. I have shortened it a bit at the end.

---

Dear children of God, my sermon this morning will be a very short one. I wish only that you should ponder and meditate the deep meaning and mystery of our masses of Christmas Day. For whenever Mass is said, we re-enact the Passion and Death of Our Lord; and on this Christmas Day we do this in celebration of His Birth. So that at the same moment we rejoice in His coming for the salvation of men, and offer again to God His Body and Blood in sacrifice, oblation and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world. It was in this same night that has just passed, that a multitude of the heavenly host appeared before the shepherds at Bethlehem, saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men'; at this same time of all the year that we celebrate at once the Birth of Our Lord and His Passion and Death upon the Cross.

Beloved, as the World sees, this is to behave in a strange fashion. For who in the World will both mourn and rejoice at once and for the same reason? For either joy will be overborne by mourning, or mourning will be cast out by joy; so it is only in these our Christian mysteries that we can rejoice and mourn at once for the same reason. 'But think for a while on the meaning of this word 'peace.' Does it seem strange to you that the angels should have announced Peace, when ceaselessly the world has been stricken with War and the fear of War? Does it seem to you that the angelic voices were mistaken, and that the promise was a disappointment and a cheat?

Reflect now, how Our Lord Himself spoke of Peace. He said to His disciples 'My peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.' Did He mean peace as we think of it: the kingdom of England at peace with its neighbours, the barons at peace with the King, the householder counting over his peaceful gains, the swept hearth, his best wine for a friend at the table, his wife singing to the children? Those men His disciples knew no such things: they went forth to journey afar, to suffer by land and sea, to know torture, imprisonment, disappointment, to suffer death by martyrdom. What then did He mean? If you ask that, remember then that He said also, 'Not as the world gives, give I unto you.' So then, He gave to His disciples peace, but not peace as the world gives.

Consider also one thing of which you have probably never thought. Not only do we at the feast of Christmas celebrate at once Our Lord's Birth and His Death: but on the next day we celebrate the martyrdom of His first martyr, the blessed Stephen. Is it an accident, do you think, that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ? By no means. Just as we rejoice and mourn at once, in the Birth and in the Passion of Our Lord; so also, in a smaller figure, we both rejoice and mourn in the death of martyrs. We mourn, for the sins of the world that has martyred them; we rejoice, that another soul is numbered among the Saints in Heaven, for the glory of God and for the salvation of men.

Beloved, we do not think of a martyr simply as a good Christian who has been killed because he is a Christian: for that would be solely to mourn. We do not think of him simply as a good Christian who has been elevated to the company of the Saints: for that would be simply to rejoice: and neither our mourning nor our rejoicing is as the world's is. A Christian martyrdom is no accident. Saints are not made by accident. Still less is a Christian martyrdom the effect of a man's will to become a Saint, as a man by willing and contriving may become a ruler of men. Ambition fortifies the will of man to become ruler over other men: it operates with deception, cajolery, and violence, it is the action of impurity upon impurity. Not so in Heaven. A martyr, a saint, is always made by the design of God, for His love of men, to warn them and to lead them, to bring them back to His ways. A martyrdom is never the design of man; for the true martyr is he who has become the instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, not lost it but found it, for he has found freedom in submission to God. The martyr no longer desires anything for himself, not even the glory of martyrdom. So thus as on earth the Church mourns and rejoices at once, in a fashion that the world cannot understand; so in Heaven the Saints are most high, having made themselves most low, seeing themselves not as we see them, but in the light of the Godhead from which they draw their being.

Amen.

Homily: Christmas Day, 2015 by Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

• Isaiah 52:7-10 - read online here  »
• Psalm Canticle 3 – Isaiah 12.2-6  - read online here »
• Hebrews 12:1-12 - read online here »
• John 1:1-14  - read online here »

John’s gospel is always about signs – he records events in Jesus’ life and reflects on them as signs of the breaking in of the Reign of God. Many of the signs John identifies are familiar to us – turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana, knowing the personal history of the Samaritan woman at the well, walking on water, raising Lazarus from the dead, feeding the 5,000, and several healing miracles.

The incarnation of God as the Word made flesh is not identified as a “sign” by John, but that is what it is. John does not tell the birth story like Luke does or even allude to it like Matthew does. He approaches the birth of Jesus from a theological perspective: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us,” and “the light shone in the darkness and the darkness could never put it out.” For John, the light that Jesus brought into the world is a sign that God has indeed come to live among human beings. And it’s real light. John saw the joy, the peace, the healing that Jesus brought into peoples’ lives. He experienced the lightness of heart that comes with intimate friendship. He saw signs of the coming Reign of God – healings, people helped to see both their sin and their potential, the darkness of the mentally ill flooded with the light of reason, the darkness of the man born blind as he opened his eyes to the light.

And John also saw the light in the context of the darkness of the world around him – the political posturing, the deadly power of the Roman occupation, disease and hunger and homelessness. And into all that darkness came the light of God’s love.

 Reading the gospel offers us signs of hope in a troubled world. So does reading the occasional stories of random acts of kindness which our newspapers and TV and radio news offer us when there is a little extra space after telling of the random and planned / targeted acts of violence. And I receive great hope from hearing the stories of people who come here on retreat, or my students, or the many other people we are all privileged to walk with in their journeys of faith.

I was very moved recently when I read the story of the 18th-century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, an American poet who wrote “Christmas Bells” – what we know familiarly as “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day” because his poem captures the tension that we live with today. There are several popular tunes for this poem, and I’ve chosen the one by John Calkin, the first person to set this hymn to music, and I think is the most familiar or at least the easiest to sing. Let’s sing the first two verses:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!  

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Very hopeful isn’t it? Longfellow is offering us a comforting and happy picture of Christmas Day in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He becomes even more ecstatic in the third verse:

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

Christmas night is over, and the day comes. Light comes. And strangely the tone of Longfellow’s poem changes as well. Or perhaps he had been feeling melancholy all night and the poem was an attempt to buoy his spirits. His son was seriously ill. His wife had died tragically in a fire a year or two before. The Civil War was raging in 1863 with no better effect than to slaughter a generation of young American men of both races.

And so Longfellow went on to pen the next two verses – the ones that are never printed in books of carols and never sung or printed in a Christmas card:

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!  

 It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

You can just feel Longfellow falling into the grips of despair – as so many people do at Christmas, when the expectations for cheerfulness are high and we encounter times when we don’t feel at all cheerful. Let’s sing the next verse which describes his feelings:

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth," I said;
“For hate is strong, And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!” 

 At this point, according to Longfellow’s biographer, he heard the bells actually break out in Cambridge, as the churches began to call people to worship. And a miracle occurred – a sign of God entering the heart of a man – and he penned the last verse, which includes the lines:

 “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, 

This may seem glib – moving from utter despair to joy at the sound of a peal of bells. But it is so often like that with us. We do not know how or why God breaks into our world, into our personal lives, into our fragile, frightened hearts – but God does. And it doesn’t take much to recognize a sign of God if our eyes and ears are open to it. Maybe the water we drink is often wine and we don’t notice it. Maybe God is raising people from the dead everywhere but they or we don’t notice. God is healing all the time, but we are often looking elsewhere and miss the moment.

Hope comes from attentiveness, from listening with the ear of our heart, looking with the eyes of faith at what is happening around us, seeing the signs – for instance of hundreds of people in this country welcoming refugees into their homes, churches inviting the homeless for Christmas dinner, intentional friendships formed among Christians, Muslims and Jews in our city.

And then the sound of a church bell may not sound so glib after all. It’s a little like the ending of Dickens’ Christmas Carol when Scrooge wakes up on Christmas morning after his night of frightening confrontations with the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. He wakes to a whole new world, sees with completely new eyes that there is real goodness in the world. And interestingly, it is the bells in the city of London that most express Scrooge’s ecstatic happiness. Dickens says:

Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, his was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long, line of brilliant laughs! 

“I don’t know what day of the month it is! said Scrooge. “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!” 

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding, hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!” 

And Scrooge learns it is Christmas Day.

Longfellow’s final stanza may be a little more reserved than Scrooge’s wild elation, but it is just as joyful. As we sing the final stanza, may our eyes be open to see the signs, the miracles around us, right now – the peace that we will shortly offer to each other, the bread and the wine offered by God at this table, the Christmas dinner to follow, the sharing of fellowship with friends old and new. And may we always keep our eyes and ears – and especially our hearts – open to God’s invasion in our lives. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us . . . and the darkness could never extinguish it.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Homily: Christmas Day, 2015 St. John’s Convent Sr. Constance Joanna, SSJD

Homily: Advent 2c Sunday, December 6, 2015 - preached by The Rev'd Andrea Budgey

With the coming of Advent, our lectionary presents us, every year, with the image of John the Baptist, the foremost messenger of the coming of Jesus into the world. Luke describes John's appearance on the scene with a quotation from that familiar and dramatic passage from Isaiah: “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God ' ”. “Prepare the way of the Lord...” In Advent, we prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ, trying to be attentive to the great mystery of the Incarnation in our own lives, but there's more to it than that. Luke situates John very firmly in a historical context, reminding us that this mystery is revealed not only spiritually, but in the broader, messier world around us.

I suspect that we don't often analyse this passage, with its grand metaphors of divine landscaping, very closely: we're not meant, I think, to picture God's coming into the world as a levelling which will transform the physical, or even spiritual, vistas of our earth into a vast and undifferentiated plain, eliminating diversity and gradation, but rather, I believe, to imagine a transformation and reclamation of the human landscape on the principles of God's justice. We know, when we stop to consider, that many, many people in our society are trapped in dark vales of poverty and despair which they are powerless to escape unaided, faced with sheer cliffs of marginalisation and prejudice and indifference which they cannot scale alone; the paths before their feet are strewn with obstacles of illness, malnutrition, and bureaucratic delay. To fill the valleys to a level from which people can actually emerge safely, to make the heights passable, and to sweep away the jagged stones which cause our brothers and sisters to stumble, is to prepare the way of the Lord. To make straight the highway, to render it both just and true, is a work which can begin in charity, in small efforts of mending and realignment, but it is ultimately and inescapably a work of prophecy, of advocacy and exhortation. 

This is a work to which we are called as a church, to advocate for the oppressed and the vulnerable, to name injustice and to strive for transformation, and it's very concrete. For example, parishes in this diocese are being asked, at their vestries this year, to adopt a motion which addresses the calls to action of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, committing themselves to education on First Nations issues, calling on the federal government to establish an inquiry into the issue of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls, and asking the provincial government, in consultation with First Nations peoples, residential school survivors, and the churches, to develop mandatory curriculum on residential schools and the contributions of Aboriginal peoples to Canada. This is, admittedly, more prosaic language than that of Isaiah and Luke, but it is the same message: when we can overcome our genteel reluctance to let the spirit of our faith become incarnate in the flesh of the body politic, we may know ourselves to be participants in preparing the way of the Lord.

We do not labour at our prophetic tasks in preparation for the arrival of a God who is absent from us. The God in whose name we exercise justice and strive for equity is with us, a light the darkness cannot overcome, working in us – in our hearts, our minds, and our bodies – to achieve the purposes of the kingdom. John the Baptist, who would never know – in this life – of the saving death and resurrection of Jesus, was given the prophetic gift to name him as the Son of God. John came, we are told, that all might believe through him: prophecy demands transparency to the light of God, an effacement of self, and a clear sense of one's own identity in relation to God. When he is asked to identify himself, John's first response is “I am not the Christ” – the prophet knows him- or herself to stand over against God, and points always away from him- or herself and toward God. John gives way to the One who comes after him, and admits his own ignorance and doubt: twice he says “I myself did not know him, but...” Prophecy is an unfolding process of attention, obedience, declaration, and self-effacement. It is also a process – and here John is a very explicit example – in which we understand that we ourselves may not see the fulfillment of the promises we proclaim, or the full realisation of the work which God commands to and through us. This is something crucial to the work of justice and advocacy: however gratifying it may be to see a result from our efforts, the virtue of prophecy is measured on a far larger scale than our own quest for visible “success”. The task of proclaiming and preparing God's kingdom is in itself a gift, part of our invitation to enter into the life of God, the invitation which comes in the Incarnation. Christ comes to us, every moment of every day, calling us to live and love and work in him, surrendering ourselves and our preconceptions and our fears in harmony with his perfect self-offering and glorious resurrection. Let our Advent prayer today be for the gifts of the prophet – attentive discernment, humble obedience, fearless proclamation, and true self-effacement – that our lives may bear witness to the light, and manifest God's presence and love and justice in the world which waits for the coming of the kingdom.