Homily for Harvest Thanksgiving, 2010
Sunday, October 3rd, 2010
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 6:25-35
“I am the bread of life.”
-John 6:35
Toward the end of the fourth century, St. Augustine began his spiritual autobiography with these words: “O Lord, you have made us for yourself and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.” It is in the make-up of every human being to long after God and to seek communion with the one who created us and has loved us from before our births. That is why we gather in these buildings, whether they be modeled on Roman public buildings or eighteenth century tents: we come to meet God.
There is so much about our church life, though, that seems distant from God, possibly because there is so much work to do in church. Is it possible, that from time to time as we go about the “business of church” that we mistake the work we do as the substance of our religion? And that we mistake our work as the foundation of our relationship with the God our hearts so long to seek? Of course, I do not wish to suggest that the work we do is of no value, nor do I wish to suggest that it is not holy work. Yet, it must be stated that sometimes the work overwhelms us and we can forget why we are here. Consequently, in all the exhaustion that occurs we may feel farther away from God than ever before, and that God is not in this place but inhabiting some distant realm that is inaccessible to ordinary folk like you and me. Then comes the question we inevitably ask: Why am I here? This is not the existential question of life and death -- although such undertones may be present -- but rather, why do I bother to come to this place every week?
Why do we bother, indeed?
In the sixth chapter of St. John’s Gospel, the crowd goes looking for Jesus and finds him on the other side of the sea. A conversation ensues in which they reflect back to an incident in the first part of the chapter in which Jesus multiplied loaves and fishes to feed a multitude. As the conversation unfolds, they ask Jesus “what must we do to perform the works of God?” Ah, that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question we all seek answered, is it not? What must I do? Just tell me what to do, and I will do it! Those gathered around Jesus are so willing to do God’s will, if they only he would tell them what to do and how to do it.
But the gospel of Christ is not self-help therapy. Any preacher can get up and give you three nice points which tell you three tasks that you can carry out and go home and then you will be close to God. How is it though, that after hearing three points, and perhaps even trying three tasks, that we feel no closer to God than when asked the question in the first place? We put our noses to the grind stone -- doing, doing, doing … and yet we are no closer to God.
It is not what we do though, that makes us capable of touching the divine, rather it is what God does, in Christ Jesus. That is why when the people ask Jesus, “what must we do?” He responds simply, “Believe.” The answer seems so simple, but then we are prompted to ask, “what are we to believe? Show us a sign!” Jesus had, of course, already given them a sign – bread in the wilderness, multiplied beyond imagination and filling every empty person. Upon recalling this, they suddenly realized that this was like the time that the Israelites were given Manna in the wilderness while following Moses. But Jesus reminds them that it was not Moses that gave them bread, but God who gave them bread. Then, he delivered the real truth to them with these words, “I am the bread of life.”
I am the bread of life. What could this mean for them? What does this mean for us? Simply this: for all the groping in the wilderness that we do, it is God who comes to us. Our hearts are indeed restless, and we can search about for God by joining committees, committing to self-help disciplines heard from people like me in a pulpit, signing up for one more task we have not the time or effort to carry out, but none of these things bring us closer to God; it is God who moves closer to us in Christ Jesus. God is constantly in motion toward us. God is constantly seeking us out. If our hearts are restless for God, it is because God is calling to us, longing for us, desiring after us. God is seeking to touch our lives and so within us comes that deep longing God, on our own part, of which St. Augustine spoke.
Jesus said, “I am the bread of life,” and these words are meant not only for that crowd two thousand years ago for they continue to speak directly to us today. These words are a claim that God the Father is not a distant far away reality in some netherworld; rather, God the Father is a deeply caring God who feeds his people with bread – not just any bread but the bread of life, Jesus Christ our Lord. In Jesus Christ, God is present and indeed, we feed on him. He is the nourishment that enables life not only in this world but in the next. When we approach the altar and take the bread of the sacrament in our hands, we truly hold the body of our Lord, the bread of life. And when we take that bread within us as our nourishment for everlasting life, we truly feed on our Lord, and the restless heart at last finds its home. We are thus assured of the reality that the old prayer of thanksgiving proclaims so clearly, “that we may every more dwell in him, and he in us.”
What, you may ask, has any of this to do with a celebration of Thanksgiving and Harvest? Much indeed! The very sacramental act that enlivens our shared liturgical life is called “thanksgiving”, the meaning of the Greek word “Eucharist.” We give thanks that God offers himself to us. We give thanks that God is restless until he gathers all his children home. We give thanks that God relentlessly pursues us. And we give thanks that he has made the calming of our restless hearts, our mystic sweet communion, possible in Jesus Christ, the Bread of Life.
Thus, the work we share in this community is not about “keeping a church going,” much less doing holy things that we might be closer to God – for these things can only lead to our spiritual, emotional and physical exhaustion – rather, the work we share in community is the proclamation of our joy and thanksgiving that God has reached out to us and made our relationship with him possible, and not just possible, but a reality! Feeding on our Lord who is present and nourishing us into the depths of our hearts, we shall not hunger or thirst, or find ourselves weary, for this work of belief is an expression of our thanksgiving that it is not through our effort but God’s effort that we have a relationship with God. To proclaim this belief in word and deed is to proclaim our joy and thanksgiving that God is indeed present here in this place and in that presence he is transforming this wonderful world from glory to glory. Thanks be to God for calling restless hearts into his presence.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Showing posts with label Harvest Thanksgiving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Harvest Thanksgiving. Show all posts
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Rejoice in the Lord Always
Homily for Harvest Thanksgiving
Senior’s Luncheon
Wednesday, October 8th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Philippians 4:4-9
“Rejoice in the Lord always.”
-Phil 4:4
St. Paul writes to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I will say, rejoice!” It is, of course, easy to rejoice when things are going well. As our annual celebration of thanksgiving comes around and we see the bounty around us in this wonderful country, in this community, and even in this church, it is easy to find words of thanksgiving to God for all the ways in which we have been blessed.
Thanksgiving has two sides, though. There are those who go without the necessities of life on a daily basis – people who we cannot see in far away places, and people we choose not to see in this our own community. It then becomes somewhat more difficult for me to give thanks for what I have because then I must examine, why do I have so much and why do they have so little? Where is the justice in that? Where is the mercy of God? Is it easy for them to give thanks?
However, there is a reality that these two portraits fail to present. Even the wealthiest amongst us are not without pain, suffering, regret and some kind of poverty or another. Those who have much have much to lose, and often they do. Even if all our financial and material needs are met, we still lose loved ones to tragic illness or tragic accidents; we still face broken relationships; we still face the reality of a broken world. We have much to rejoice over, but we also have much to lament over.
And who has not seen blessing in the eyes of the poorest pauper? I remember talking with a street busker once who was not a wealthy man, but he constantly gave thanks for his life and all that he had. His spirit of thanksgiving was a blessing to those who passed by and spoke with him and heard his music. Who amongst us has not been touched by the generosity and gentleness of one who has less than we, and yet is thankful for even the slightest thing?
Be we rich or poor or middle class, each of us has within us poverty and wealth. When St. Paul wrote to the Philippians, he was impeded from being with them because he was imprisoned for preaching the Gospel. Yet, he exudes great joy. Was he suffering? Certainly – he was in prison. Was he conflict? Certainly – he longed to leave this realm to be with Christ. What St. Paul understood, though, was that suffering and joy are not single children. Suffering and joy are twin siblings that walk together. To consider them anything else is to delude ourselves. Paul’s experience ran the gamut from poverty to jubilation – and he experienced both things not as polarities but as partners in his human experience and as the result of his life in Christ.
The Church at Philippi was very likely a wealthy community, funding many of Paul’s missions, and yet, it seems as if they were experiencing suffering under some kind of persecution. There seem to have been conflict in the community. Today’s passage follows an exhortation by Paul for two members (two faithful members who had suffered much for the gospel) to be reconciled with each other. Suffering and joy exist together in an ongoing tension. Indeed, he holds up our Lord and Saviour as the primary model of this suffering and joy, for Christ suffered greatly for our sake but is now exalted so that we, too, might be exalted. God, himself, participated in both our suffering and our joy. Thus, all our suffering and joy is made holy in his suffering and joy.
I suppose then, that this is one of the things that make us both human and hallowed. In our suffering we can taste the suffering of another and not only feel compassion but be stirred to walk with them, help them lift their burden and carry their load. In our joy we can touch the joy of another and celebrate the blessings of each other’s lives. To be truly human, as God created us to be, is to be touched and moved by the life and experience of our fellow creatures.
Let us be stirred, then, to give a hand to those who suffer, walk in poverty, are filled with sadness, and need a companion, for do we not all experience some kind of poverty at some time or another? And let us rejoice with those who celebrate good news and abundant blessing, for are we not all blessed in one sense or another? Let us be of the same mind as Christ our Lord, who suffered and rejoiced, not for his sake but for ours. Let our suffering and joy be made holy, in him, in service to our fellow creatures.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Senior’s Luncheon
Wednesday, October 8th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Philippians 4:4-9
“Rejoice in the Lord always.”
-Phil 4:4
St. Paul writes to the Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I will say, rejoice!” It is, of course, easy to rejoice when things are going well. As our annual celebration of thanksgiving comes around and we see the bounty around us in this wonderful country, in this community, and even in this church, it is easy to find words of thanksgiving to God for all the ways in which we have been blessed.
Thanksgiving has two sides, though. There are those who go without the necessities of life on a daily basis – people who we cannot see in far away places, and people we choose not to see in this our own community. It then becomes somewhat more difficult for me to give thanks for what I have because then I must examine, why do I have so much and why do they have so little? Where is the justice in that? Where is the mercy of God? Is it easy for them to give thanks?
However, there is a reality that these two portraits fail to present. Even the wealthiest amongst us are not without pain, suffering, regret and some kind of poverty or another. Those who have much have much to lose, and often they do. Even if all our financial and material needs are met, we still lose loved ones to tragic illness or tragic accidents; we still face broken relationships; we still face the reality of a broken world. We have much to rejoice over, but we also have much to lament over.
And who has not seen blessing in the eyes of the poorest pauper? I remember talking with a street busker once who was not a wealthy man, but he constantly gave thanks for his life and all that he had. His spirit of thanksgiving was a blessing to those who passed by and spoke with him and heard his music. Who amongst us has not been touched by the generosity and gentleness of one who has less than we, and yet is thankful for even the slightest thing?
Be we rich or poor or middle class, each of us has within us poverty and wealth. When St. Paul wrote to the Philippians, he was impeded from being with them because he was imprisoned for preaching the Gospel. Yet, he exudes great joy. Was he suffering? Certainly – he was in prison. Was he conflict? Certainly – he longed to leave this realm to be with Christ. What St. Paul understood, though, was that suffering and joy are not single children. Suffering and joy are twin siblings that walk together. To consider them anything else is to delude ourselves. Paul’s experience ran the gamut from poverty to jubilation – and he experienced both things not as polarities but as partners in his human experience and as the result of his life in Christ.
The Church at Philippi was very likely a wealthy community, funding many of Paul’s missions, and yet, it seems as if they were experiencing suffering under some kind of persecution. There seem to have been conflict in the community. Today’s passage follows an exhortation by Paul for two members (two faithful members who had suffered much for the gospel) to be reconciled with each other. Suffering and joy exist together in an ongoing tension. Indeed, he holds up our Lord and Saviour as the primary model of this suffering and joy, for Christ suffered greatly for our sake but is now exalted so that we, too, might be exalted. God, himself, participated in both our suffering and our joy. Thus, all our suffering and joy is made holy in his suffering and joy.
I suppose then, that this is one of the things that make us both human and hallowed. In our suffering we can taste the suffering of another and not only feel compassion but be stirred to walk with them, help them lift their burden and carry their load. In our joy we can touch the joy of another and celebrate the blessings of each other’s lives. To be truly human, as God created us to be, is to be touched and moved by the life and experience of our fellow creatures.
Let us be stirred, then, to give a hand to those who suffer, walk in poverty, are filled with sadness, and need a companion, for do we not all experience some kind of poverty at some time or another? And let us rejoice with those who celebrate good news and abundant blessing, for are we not all blessed in one sense or another? Let us be of the same mind as Christ our Lord, who suffered and rejoiced, not for his sake but for ours. Let our suffering and joy be made holy, in him, in service to our fellow creatures.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Do Not Worry: A Homily for Harvest Thanksgiving
Homily for Harvest Thanksgiving, Year A, 2008
Sunday, October 5th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 6:25-33
Do not worry. How easy it is to offer this platitude when there is so much to worry about. The very suggestion not to worry seems to undercut the reality of the stress, pain or fear that we might be experiencing over any given crisis. How many times has a friend or loved one told you not to worry about someone or something and you have wished that your friend, well-meaning as they are, would simply go away? The well-meaning friend hopes that in offering this counsel will alleviate your worry, and perhaps even alleviate their own worry about you and everything that you are facing. Yet, such counsel and advice is often taken as the counsel of Job’s friends, as not really helpful advice at all. For to worry is to be a person invested in the world and invested in the stuff of life. I must worry about my children when I send them off either to kindergarten or university. I must worry about the safety of our schools and streets. I must worry about an aging parent whose health is declining. I must worry about a friend in financial need. Don’t tell me not to worry.
This week has been a week of financial worry for many who have invested in the markets, or for those who have pensions heavily invested in these same financial markets. This week has been a worry for those south of the border who have homes and houses on the line. There is cause for worry for many folk. We have cause to worry for the places in the world that are torn apart by warfare and strife. We have cause to worry for the poorest amongst us in the world who go without the basic necessities of life on a daily basis. We have cause to worry about our young men and women overseas. We have so much too worry about.
To deny our worry would be to deny a piece of ourselves and to deny a piece of our humanity. If we are to live with any authenticity we must admit that we do indeed worry and not push it down inside of us and pretend that we have some kind of superhuman resistance to it. Similarly, I believe that as friends to those who find themselves in crisis, we should resist the urge to tell others not to worry, when there is indeed cause for worry. Rather we should stand alongside those in their angst and offer them companionship and love as they authentically struggle with the challenges and worries that they encounter along life’s road.
Thus, these words of Jesus -- “do not worry” -- are difficult for us. Should we even take them seriously? Are they actually a realistic admonishment? Should we consider that they apply to others who have better resilience to crisis than you or me?
I suppose that more important than, “Do not worry,” is the comforting reality of Jesus’ abiding presence with us. As I have said so often about St. Matthew’s Gospel, it is a gospel about the enduring presence of Christ in our lives. The text begins with the fulfillment of the prophecy about the birth of Christ, Emmanuel, literally, God with us, and concludes with Jesus’ promise to be with us always even unto the end of the age. Having “book-ended” his Gospel in this way, I believe that this promise of presence is the key that we must constantly use to unlock Matthew’s text. To this end, I think that this is what this little story is really about. In the midst of our worry, in the midst of crisis, in the midst of sadness, in the midst of fear, in the midst of loss, Jesus is with us.
Jesus is with us not as one who negates our worry or angst but as one who helps us bear it on the road. Thus, when we look to the birds of the air or the lilies of the field we come to understand that God journeys with the whole created order through the seasons. As it is with us, so is it also for the Earth: for the earth, there are good seasons and bad. There are times where there is too much rain, or too much snow, or too much heat… but shall we say God has abandoned the Earth? There are times when the harvest is plentiful and there are times when the harvest is sparse. Shall we say that God has abandoned the wind or the sky or the earth or the sea? The seasons cycle through their days and yet comes another dawn, a new morn, a new sun and a new moon, new growth, and yes, so too again will follow the withering of the grass and the falling of the leaves and the sleeping of the earth. But as God attends the seasons of the Earth, so too, he attends the seasons of our lives. He is with us as joy is birthed and he is with us when death brings sadness. He is with us as we fall in love and with us when love is broken. He is with us in the brightness of our mornings and in the deep frightening stillness of our nights. He is with us always.
Do not worry. This phrase then takes on a new meaning because our counselor is not merely a well-meaning friend offering platitudinous counsel, but a companion who shares our fear, knows our pain, tastes our burden. In the crucible of our lives he lives and moves and has his being. And in his crucible is our burden lifted, carried, and redeemed in the sight of God.
We do not know why we face certain kinds of suffering in this life. And while these sufferings may feel like they are put upon us, let us never forget that our God is the one who helps bear the burden and lift our suffering and worry from us. Let us never forget that we are not left alone, or comfortless, or companionless.
Do not worry. This is not the counsel of a well-meaning, but wrong-headed friend, but a promise. It is a promise – a promise that our worry is never ours to bear alone; a promise that whatever suffering we face is a suffering that will be shared by the one who hung for us on the tree of life; a promise that dark though the road may be, Jesus will ever be a light to our feet and a lantern to our path.
Worry does not go away simply because someone tells us not to worry. Our fears and worries dissipate only when another helps us carry them, and lift them from our shoulders. Let us therefore embrace the reality of our worry, the reality of our fear, the reality of our struggle, and the reality of our pain and angst, for it is in embracing the reality of our lives that Jesus extends a hand to walk with us. It is in facing the reality of our lives that we are offered not empty words of consolation, but a promise of divine friendship, which is the gift beyond all measure and a harvest more bountiful than wealth of riches and gold.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, October 5th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 6:25-33
Do not worry. How easy it is to offer this platitude when there is so much to worry about. The very suggestion not to worry seems to undercut the reality of the stress, pain or fear that we might be experiencing over any given crisis. How many times has a friend or loved one told you not to worry about someone or something and you have wished that your friend, well-meaning as they are, would simply go away? The well-meaning friend hopes that in offering this counsel will alleviate your worry, and perhaps even alleviate their own worry about you and everything that you are facing. Yet, such counsel and advice is often taken as the counsel of Job’s friends, as not really helpful advice at all. For to worry is to be a person invested in the world and invested in the stuff of life. I must worry about my children when I send them off either to kindergarten or university. I must worry about the safety of our schools and streets. I must worry about an aging parent whose health is declining. I must worry about a friend in financial need. Don’t tell me not to worry.
This week has been a week of financial worry for many who have invested in the markets, or for those who have pensions heavily invested in these same financial markets. This week has been a worry for those south of the border who have homes and houses on the line. There is cause for worry for many folk. We have cause to worry for the places in the world that are torn apart by warfare and strife. We have cause to worry for the poorest amongst us in the world who go without the basic necessities of life on a daily basis. We have cause to worry about our young men and women overseas. We have so much too worry about.
To deny our worry would be to deny a piece of ourselves and to deny a piece of our humanity. If we are to live with any authenticity we must admit that we do indeed worry and not push it down inside of us and pretend that we have some kind of superhuman resistance to it. Similarly, I believe that as friends to those who find themselves in crisis, we should resist the urge to tell others not to worry, when there is indeed cause for worry. Rather we should stand alongside those in their angst and offer them companionship and love as they authentically struggle with the challenges and worries that they encounter along life’s road.
Thus, these words of Jesus -- “do not worry” -- are difficult for us. Should we even take them seriously? Are they actually a realistic admonishment? Should we consider that they apply to others who have better resilience to crisis than you or me?
I suppose that more important than, “Do not worry,” is the comforting reality of Jesus’ abiding presence with us. As I have said so often about St. Matthew’s Gospel, it is a gospel about the enduring presence of Christ in our lives. The text begins with the fulfillment of the prophecy about the birth of Christ, Emmanuel, literally, God with us, and concludes with Jesus’ promise to be with us always even unto the end of the age. Having “book-ended” his Gospel in this way, I believe that this promise of presence is the key that we must constantly use to unlock Matthew’s text. To this end, I think that this is what this little story is really about. In the midst of our worry, in the midst of crisis, in the midst of sadness, in the midst of fear, in the midst of loss, Jesus is with us.
Jesus is with us not as one who negates our worry or angst but as one who helps us bear it on the road. Thus, when we look to the birds of the air or the lilies of the field we come to understand that God journeys with the whole created order through the seasons. As it is with us, so is it also for the Earth: for the earth, there are good seasons and bad. There are times where there is too much rain, or too much snow, or too much heat… but shall we say God has abandoned the Earth? There are times when the harvest is plentiful and there are times when the harvest is sparse. Shall we say that God has abandoned the wind or the sky or the earth or the sea? The seasons cycle through their days and yet comes another dawn, a new morn, a new sun and a new moon, new growth, and yes, so too again will follow the withering of the grass and the falling of the leaves and the sleeping of the earth. But as God attends the seasons of the Earth, so too, he attends the seasons of our lives. He is with us as joy is birthed and he is with us when death brings sadness. He is with us as we fall in love and with us when love is broken. He is with us in the brightness of our mornings and in the deep frightening stillness of our nights. He is with us always.
Do not worry. This phrase then takes on a new meaning because our counselor is not merely a well-meaning friend offering platitudinous counsel, but a companion who shares our fear, knows our pain, tastes our burden. In the crucible of our lives he lives and moves and has his being. And in his crucible is our burden lifted, carried, and redeemed in the sight of God.
We do not know why we face certain kinds of suffering in this life. And while these sufferings may feel like they are put upon us, let us never forget that our God is the one who helps bear the burden and lift our suffering and worry from us. Let us never forget that we are not left alone, or comfortless, or companionless.
Do not worry. This is not the counsel of a well-meaning, but wrong-headed friend, but a promise. It is a promise – a promise that our worry is never ours to bear alone; a promise that whatever suffering we face is a suffering that will be shared by the one who hung for us on the tree of life; a promise that dark though the road may be, Jesus will ever be a light to our feet and a lantern to our path.
Worry does not go away simply because someone tells us not to worry. Our fears and worries dissipate only when another helps us carry them, and lift them from our shoulders. Let us therefore embrace the reality of our worry, the reality of our fear, the reality of our struggle, and the reality of our pain and angst, for it is in embracing the reality of our lives that Jesus extends a hand to walk with us. It is in facing the reality of our lives that we are offered not empty words of consolation, but a promise of divine friendship, which is the gift beyond all measure and a harvest more bountiful than wealth of riches and gold.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
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