Sermon for Proper 30, Year A
Sunday, October 26th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
“So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also ourselves, because you have become very dear to us.”
--1 Thess 2:8
What is it that humans have feared most from age to age? More that war, more than poverty, more than disease – humans are afraid of being alone. Indeed, I would venture to say that underlying most of the things that grip us with fear is the fear of being alone. War, poverty, disease – these are all things that, when all is said and done, precipitate some kind of loss. At the heart of loss, is separation. And when we are separated from each other, from those we love and care for, through distance, illness, or death, we are alone. To probe even deeper, the aloneness that we feel when separated from each other makes us wonder if we are alone in the universe. Here, I speak not of the cosmic realm, but of the eternal realm. What if, when all is said and done, we are truly alone?
There are many people in this world whose faith in God seems so assured that I wonder if this question ever crosses their minds? I admire such faith, but I must be honest, it is not the experience of most of the people that I meet. And if I am to be quite honest, it is not always my experience. I have acknowledged previously, because I believe that honesty about things spiritual is incumbent upon us all, that there are times in the depth of my dark nights that I feel alone, and I wonder. I wonder about the promises of God. I wonder what comes next. I wonder about the afterlife and our resurrection from the dead. I wonder if my life means anything at all. I wonder about God. I wonder if I am alone.
Ironically, though, I don’t think that I am alone in this wondering. Who amongst us has not wondered in such wise? Who amongst us has not had those moments of feeling desperately isolated and alone? Who amongst us has, through isolation from fellow human beings, not felt isolated from God? I think we all have. But the first thing that I wish to say is this: that in our shared struggles around loneliness and aloneness, we realize that we are not alone. We all share in this struggle and we all share in the realization that it holds a very destructive power over us. I think we all know that loneliness and aloneness can threaten our bodies, minds and spirits. Loneliness and aloneness can destroy us. Our struggle with being alone is a struggle we share as part of our human condition.
What is so destructive, though, is the fact that we have so little power to change this. We cannot will ourselves out of loneliness. What brings an end to loneliness, what ends our experience of aloneness, is the presence of another. And so to this end, St. Paul writes to the people of Thessalonica, “So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also ourselves, because you have become very dear to us.” And in those comforting words, a people who felt alone in the world, because of persecution, because of rejection, because of all the things the breed loneliness, knew they were loved. Paul’s words signify a certain reality that Paul sought to impart not only comfort, but his own very loving presence to them. And what is more, he sought to impart through his own loving presence, the loving presence of a loving God.
One of the devices frequently employed by Paul as he wrote to communities around the Mediterranean was this very literary device in which he seeks to impart his presence through the means of a letter. Paul could not be with every community at every time. But he always promised that he was coming soon, and was indeed already with them through his love and his letter writing. But for Paul, it was never really about his own presence and his own love for the people, but about God’s presence and God’s love. He hoped and prayed and believed that in making his love known, they would know something of the love of God and in this experience of love, know something of God’s presence. He hoped and prayed and believed that they would not be alone, that none of us would be alone.
What Paul sought to enact for the people of Thessalonica, and for Christians everywhere (and this is why we still read him today, and why his letters speak across the ages), was this: A loving God continues to seek us out, as individual and as a people. As individuals who are lost and alone, and as people who wander in the wilderness together, and yet apart, God presses forward, seeks us out, gathers us in. Why is this so? Because we have become very dear to him, not through our own merit, not through our own striving, not through works of the Law, but simply because it is in the nature of God to love his people more passionately than we could ever hope to love back. God is determined to share himself with us. God is determined to share his love with us. God is determined that we should not be alone.
This is indeed the Good News of the Gospel of God in Jesus Christ. Because God has walked amongst us in Christ, therefore we are not alone. Because God has shared himself with us, therefore we are not alone. Because God has given us the gift of human love, the gift to love each other, therefore we are not alone. Surely, the darkness of night continues to fall, and moments of loneliness will continue to wash over us, but we are not alone. Wars and rumours of wars may threaten to separate us from friend and neighbour, but we are not alone. Surely, those around us will abandon and forsake us, through the shattering of friendships, marriages, and even through death, but we are not, nor shall ever be alone. For God is determined when our determination fails. God is faithful when our faith diminished. God is present when all around us disappear. And most importantly God is ever seeking us out, sharing himself with us, and imprinting upon our hearts his wonderful words of life.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Saturday, October 25, 2008
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.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Follow Me
Homily for the Feast of St. Matthew
Sunday, September 21st, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 9:9-13
“Follow me…” and he got up and followed him.
- Matthew 9:9
If a certain first century tax collector named Matthew was to be caught up somehow in the space/time continuum and transported to our present day and witness the celebrations held in his honour, see the churches dedicated to his memory, and notice the prefix of “Saint” added to his name, he would certainly be forgiven for thinking that he must be the victim of a case of mistaken identity. Surely, this festival and those churches could not be in honour of him, the hated tax collector! And if one of his contemporaries happened to have been caught up in that same time warp with him, he surely would have added, “I know the man well, and believe me… he ain’t no saint!” What happened that this most notorious of sinners should come to be thought of as one the preeminent saints of the Church?
Let us first consider, what was so bad about this man anyway? As modern people we may scratch our heads at the notion that being a tax collector was about as bad as one could get, but in ancient times tax collectors were looked upon with considerable distain and loathing. Often, they were free-agent local contractors who collected taxes on behalf of the hated Roman occupiers. Thus, to some extent, they were probably looked upon as collaborators. Furthermore, many were known for either skimming off the top or overcharging and pocketing considerable sums of money for themselves. They were individuals who should have served the public good but who abused their civic duty. In today’s terms we might draw an analogy with those, who, as members of respected professions engage in questionably ethical behaviour. Whether they be civil servants corrupted by access to the public purse, or the so-called ambulance-chasers of certain guilds, we can begin to understand the low regard in which this particular professional might have been held. To this end, tax collectors were grouped alongside all other kinds of sinners, such as prostitutes, thieves, rapists, and murderers, and in the case of today’s gospel, were singled out as especially bad.
However, by the end of the first century, the Church had a special book, claiming to come from the hand of this most heinous tax collector -- The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which has become the first book of our New Testament. To those who knew Matthew the tax collector, this most certainly would have come as a surprise. Scholars debate whether or not our tax -collecting friend was actually the author of this book, but it seems certain that the traditions within it go back to him. What is especially interesting is that this particular gospel soon achieved a preeminent status in the Church as the first amongst four gospels, and indeed has often been called “The Church’s book.” By the early second century, one writer, Papias (whose words are preserved in fourth century Church Historian Eusebius of Ceasarea) notes the importance of Matthew’s gospel by stating, “Matthew collected the oracles (of Jesus) in the Hebrew language and each interpreted them as best he could” (Eusebius Ecc. Hist. III.39.16). Later in the second century, the great Ireneus of Lyons also knows of this gospel and its preeminence. By the middle ages, several versions of his martyrdom existed, having him meet his demise in the defense of the faith variously in Persia, Ethiopia, or Pontus. Reputed relics of St. Matthew are found across Europe and remain to this day places of pilgrimage.
The question remains, though, how did this notorious sinner become the celebrated saint? The answer is deceptively simple and can be found in his response to that invitation offered by Jesus on that afternoon so long ago: “Follow me.”
The story is a simple one and so much remains untold. Jesus was simply walking by, caught sight of Matthew and offered him an invitation to become his follower, his disciple. We are simply told that Matthew “got up and followed him.” We are not told of what angst might have been on Matthew’s heart leading up to that moment. We are not told of the risk he took in leaving all behind. We are not told of how he might have felt at being offered a place in this special band of disciples given how his fellows disdained him. We are only told that he got up and followed Jesus.
I suppose that it really is as simple as that for each of us. We can wrestle and wrangle over what being a follower of Jesus might mean for us. What are the challenges of following Jesus? What will I have to give up? What lies ahead for me? What will people think of me? Will I be acceptable to God? Am I fit for God’s work? All these questions may pass before us – these and more – but ultimately we must face that moment of truth when all the questions and concerns are eclipsed by the invitation. Will I say yes to that invitation? Will I rise up and follow him?
Jesus sees beyond and through our doubt and angst into the depths of our truest selves and issues that call that cuts through all that distracts us. The terseness of the call illustrates that this is how he saw Matthew. He looked beyond all that separated Matthew from his fellow citizens. He saw Matthew with different eyes. Consider that the name Matthew derives from a Semitic word that means “gift from God.” Matthew may have been despised and rejected by amongst whom he lived and worked. And very likely, there was good cause to despise such a man. Yet, Jesus looked beyond what the world could see. He looked beyond even how Matthew might have viewed himself and recognized the man who was a gift from God, and invited him to follow him on his journey.
I am conscious, though, that the name “Matthew” might also be a play on the Greek word for disciple, mathetes. So again, the one who we might cast aside, the one who we might despise is gathered up by that great shepherd of our souls and recognized as being of great value to the kingdom of God. Jesus looked beyond the tax collector and saw the disciple. Our Lord looks into the depths of each one of us, beyond the things others do not like about us, and beyond the things that we do not like about ourselves, and recognizes and calls the disciple in each one of us.
I am also conscious that while Jesus called Matthew to be his disciple, Matthew became something more. A disciple is one who “follows behind” and indeed this is the sense of the Greek phrase that here we find translated, “follow me.” An apostle, on the other hand, is one who goes ahead, with a message and a proclamation. Thus, not only did Jesus recognize within Matthew the follower, he saw what he could become, which was the herald of good tidings, the apostle.
We catch a glimpse of this reality within the text because Matthew’s conversion is immediately followed by Jesus sitting at dinner not only with Matthew, but with many tax collectors and sinners. What has Matthew’s conversion done but lead others to Christ! By following he became a leader. Others around, others who felt unworthy, other who felt unloved, others who felt themselves to be the outcasts, others who believed that they had nothing to offer, others who believed they had no beauty within themselves, recognized that they, too, were gifts from God. Through the witness of Matthew’s discipleship, they were able to let go of everything that held them in bondage to their brokenness and sit in the presence of the Lord feeling loved and affirmed simply as children of God.
The message is as sure today as it was then. Underneath the rubble of my own mistakes and missteps, and underneath the wounds of our broken relationships there exists a person who is a gift to the world. Although we may not be able to see it ourselves and even others may write us off, Jesus looks deeply through the fog of our lives and utters those words, “follow me – be my disciple – I choose you.”
And if we dare to say yes, we too shall find that we are called not only to be disciples but called to be heralds and apostles of this scandalous message that each created person is indeed valuable and precious, that each one of us is a gift from God and have a gift to offer, and that there is no one who is not precious and beautiful in the sight of God.
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, September 21st, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 9:9-13
“Follow me…” and he got up and followed him.
- Matthew 9:9
If a certain first century tax collector named Matthew was to be caught up somehow in the space/time continuum and transported to our present day and witness the celebrations held in his honour, see the churches dedicated to his memory, and notice the prefix of “Saint” added to his name, he would certainly be forgiven for thinking that he must be the victim of a case of mistaken identity. Surely, this festival and those churches could not be in honour of him, the hated tax collector! And if one of his contemporaries happened to have been caught up in that same time warp with him, he surely would have added, “I know the man well, and believe me… he ain’t no saint!” What happened that this most notorious of sinners should come to be thought of as one the preeminent saints of the Church?
Let us first consider, what was so bad about this man anyway? As modern people we may scratch our heads at the notion that being a tax collector was about as bad as one could get, but in ancient times tax collectors were looked upon with considerable distain and loathing. Often, they were free-agent local contractors who collected taxes on behalf of the hated Roman occupiers. Thus, to some extent, they were probably looked upon as collaborators. Furthermore, many were known for either skimming off the top or overcharging and pocketing considerable sums of money for themselves. They were individuals who should have served the public good but who abused their civic duty. In today’s terms we might draw an analogy with those, who, as members of respected professions engage in questionably ethical behaviour. Whether they be civil servants corrupted by access to the public purse, or the so-called ambulance-chasers of certain guilds, we can begin to understand the low regard in which this particular professional might have been held. To this end, tax collectors were grouped alongside all other kinds of sinners, such as prostitutes, thieves, rapists, and murderers, and in the case of today’s gospel, were singled out as especially bad.
However, by the end of the first century, the Church had a special book, claiming to come from the hand of this most heinous tax collector -- The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which has become the first book of our New Testament. To those who knew Matthew the tax collector, this most certainly would have come as a surprise. Scholars debate whether or not our tax -collecting friend was actually the author of this book, but it seems certain that the traditions within it go back to him. What is especially interesting is that this particular gospel soon achieved a preeminent status in the Church as the first amongst four gospels, and indeed has often been called “The Church’s book.” By the early second century, one writer, Papias (whose words are preserved in fourth century Church Historian Eusebius of Ceasarea) notes the importance of Matthew’s gospel by stating, “Matthew collected the oracles (of Jesus) in the Hebrew language and each interpreted them as best he could” (Eusebius Ecc. Hist. III.39.16). Later in the second century, the great Ireneus of Lyons also knows of this gospel and its preeminence. By the middle ages, several versions of his martyrdom existed, having him meet his demise in the defense of the faith variously in Persia, Ethiopia, or Pontus. Reputed relics of St. Matthew are found across Europe and remain to this day places of pilgrimage.
The question remains, though, how did this notorious sinner become the celebrated saint? The answer is deceptively simple and can be found in his response to that invitation offered by Jesus on that afternoon so long ago: “Follow me.”
The story is a simple one and so much remains untold. Jesus was simply walking by, caught sight of Matthew and offered him an invitation to become his follower, his disciple. We are simply told that Matthew “got up and followed him.” We are not told of what angst might have been on Matthew’s heart leading up to that moment. We are not told of the risk he took in leaving all behind. We are not told of how he might have felt at being offered a place in this special band of disciples given how his fellows disdained him. We are only told that he got up and followed Jesus.
I suppose that it really is as simple as that for each of us. We can wrestle and wrangle over what being a follower of Jesus might mean for us. What are the challenges of following Jesus? What will I have to give up? What lies ahead for me? What will people think of me? Will I be acceptable to God? Am I fit for God’s work? All these questions may pass before us – these and more – but ultimately we must face that moment of truth when all the questions and concerns are eclipsed by the invitation. Will I say yes to that invitation? Will I rise up and follow him?
Jesus sees beyond and through our doubt and angst into the depths of our truest selves and issues that call that cuts through all that distracts us. The terseness of the call illustrates that this is how he saw Matthew. He looked beyond all that separated Matthew from his fellow citizens. He saw Matthew with different eyes. Consider that the name Matthew derives from a Semitic word that means “gift from God.” Matthew may have been despised and rejected by amongst whom he lived and worked. And very likely, there was good cause to despise such a man. Yet, Jesus looked beyond what the world could see. He looked beyond even how Matthew might have viewed himself and recognized the man who was a gift from God, and invited him to follow him on his journey.
I am conscious, though, that the name “Matthew” might also be a play on the Greek word for disciple, mathetes. So again, the one who we might cast aside, the one who we might despise is gathered up by that great shepherd of our souls and recognized as being of great value to the kingdom of God. Jesus looked beyond the tax collector and saw the disciple. Our Lord looks into the depths of each one of us, beyond the things others do not like about us, and beyond the things that we do not like about ourselves, and recognizes and calls the disciple in each one of us.
I am also conscious that while Jesus called Matthew to be his disciple, Matthew became something more. A disciple is one who “follows behind” and indeed this is the sense of the Greek phrase that here we find translated, “follow me.” An apostle, on the other hand, is one who goes ahead, with a message and a proclamation. Thus, not only did Jesus recognize within Matthew the follower, he saw what he could become, which was the herald of good tidings, the apostle.
We catch a glimpse of this reality within the text because Matthew’s conversion is immediately followed by Jesus sitting at dinner not only with Matthew, but with many tax collectors and sinners. What has Matthew’s conversion done but lead others to Christ! By following he became a leader. Others around, others who felt unworthy, other who felt unloved, others who felt themselves to be the outcasts, others who believed that they had nothing to offer, others who believed they had no beauty within themselves, recognized that they, too, were gifts from God. Through the witness of Matthew’s discipleship, they were able to let go of everything that held them in bondage to their brokenness and sit in the presence of the Lord feeling loved and affirmed simply as children of God.
The message is as sure today as it was then. Underneath the rubble of my own mistakes and missteps, and underneath the wounds of our broken relationships there exists a person who is a gift to the world. Although we may not be able to see it ourselves and even others may write us off, Jesus looks deeply through the fog of our lives and utters those words, “follow me – be my disciple – I choose you.”
And if we dare to say yes, we too shall find that we are called not only to be disciples but called to be heralds and apostles of this scandalous message that each created person is indeed valuable and precious, that each one of us is a gift from God and have a gift to offer, and that there is no one who is not precious and beautiful in the sight of God.
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, August 31, 2008
Prayer as Being
Homily for Proper 22, Year A
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 12:9-21
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
-- Romans 12:21
In today’s epistle, the Apostle reiterates some of the most important teachings that we find in the Gospel. He admonishes his audience to be genuine in love, hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good, love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in honour. Be ardent, zealous, hopeful, patient in suffering, persevere in prayer, and contribute to the needs of the saints. And finally, do not repay evil with evil, but overcome evil with good. Is it not true that many, if not all of these Christian virtues are difficult to observe and maintain? How many of us are truly able to turn the other cheek, or offer hospitality to one who has offended us? Are any of these virtues actually possible? How many of us actually live with the belief that good will indeed overcome evil?
If we have learned anything over the past several weeks of journeying with Paul, I hope that it is this, that these things are not possible without Christ. Indeed, if we seek these virtues under our own power we shall never attain to them. If these virtues are at all possible, it is our Lord and God working through us in Jesus Christ -- not me, but Christ in me. This is why the Apostle commands us to persevere in prayer. Prayer is at the heart of the Christian life. In prayer we bring before God the pains and sorrows of this weary world, and in prayer we lay before God our own brokenness and our sinfulness. What is more, in prayer we receive great peace. In prayer God enfolds us in love. In prayer, when all about us comes crashing down and all seems lost, God enfolds us in his loving arms and keeps us and reminds us that all shall indeed be well. In prayer, God reminds us not to be overcome by the world but to meet the world in its suffering.
Indeed, it was in suffering world to which our Lord Jesus Christ stretched out his hands on the cross, and it was this same suffering world that he redeemed in his Resurrection. Even on the road to the cross, even in Gethsemane, even on Golgotha – Jesus Christ was not overcome by evil, but overcame evil with good, for on the third day, as we all know, he rose from the dead, reconciling all things to God.
Yes, it is difficult for us to live with Christian virtue, to live in love and charity with our neighbour, and to love those who persecute us. But look to our Lord on the Cross and remember this, it is not me but Christ in me. It is not you, but Christ in you. Friends, if we rely on our own power to overcome evil with good, it shall never be done. But if we rely on Christ, who transforms us and transforms the world, all things are possible. It is not simply a matter of “what would Jesus do?” but “what has Jesus done.” He has trampled down the power of sin and death. He has overcome evil with what is good. And in him we have died to our old selves in order that we might be alive to God.
This is the truth to which Paul has spoken throughout the letter to the Romans, and this is the truth into which we are called to live. If we live into this truth we shall indeed be transformed and those Christian virtues that seem so difficult for each of us will become a way of life.
A man came to Jesus and asked him to heal his child who was severely afflicted. “Just believe,” Jesus told him. What was the man’s response? Was it not the response that might come from the lips of any of us – words of hope and yet words of doubt? “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.” This is where most of us stand, is it not, with a desire to believe, a desire to live the Christian life, but with a fear that it is all an illusion? Yet, in Jesus’ presence, the man was encouraged and his prayer was granted.
Persevere in prayer. This is perhaps the most important encouragement in today’s passage from Romans. It is, of course, a vow that each of us have made in our baptisms: “Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?” And what is our answer? “I will with God’s help.” Paul knows that we cannot do it on our own and thus in our Baptism we make our promise, which is actually a plea for help.
Persevere in prayer. How shall we do this? And is persevering in prayer a “work” toward our salvation, the kind of thing that Paul cautions against? I do not think so. For prayer, although often described as a work (and to be sure, prayer does take effort and discipline), is actually a way of being. It is a relationship rather than a task. Relationships take time and effort, but they are primarily about simply being together. So it is with prayer. Thus, if we believe that prayer is not so much a task but a relationship, then we believe that prayer is simply about being with God.
Now, how do we set about being with God, which is, I believe the primary task of prayer? First, I think that we must set aside a regular time to be with God, everyday. A relationship that does not have intention and commitment is really not a relationship at all. Set aside some time, even just a little bit. Think of how much joy it brings to you and a spouse, a friend or child, to have a regular bit of time together, even if it is just for a short while. Take the time.
Next, be intentional about how you spend the time. Any relationship is built upon shared experience and mutual conversation. What might time with God look like and what shape will our conversation take? Traditionally, our shared experience as a Christian people is the Holy Scripture. The Bible is our story. Our conversation is our reflection on this story, our grappling with it, our questioning of it, our praying it. There are many ways of prayer, but as Anglicans we have a particular gift, the gift of the Daily Office. The Daily Office is a daily cycle of daily prayer and reading in which we hear and pray the word of God day-by-day as a way of being with God and talking with God. If we hope to become a people with a passionate spirituality, then we must listen to God in our Holy Scripture and converse with God in prayer. There can be no substitute. We hear people say that the Bible does not have meaning for them, but have they chosen to take the time to read it faithfully in the context of prayer?
To this end, I issue you a challenge. I am calling this challenge “The Gospel of Mark Challenge.” I am encouraging, even challenging you, to take fifteen minutes every day to pray the Daily Office and read a little bit of Mark’s Gospel from beginning to end. The Gospel of St. Mark has sixteen chapters. This means that by reading half a chapter a day, you can read it through in about a month. But read it through as part of a little service that you do at a set time of the day, a time of your choosing. Many of you will own a Book of Alternative Services or Book of Common Prayer. Morning and Evening Prayer can be found in both these books. You can do a fuller or abbreviated service, depending on how you feel. You can do Morning or Evening Prayer; it is your choice. Each service makes provision for readings from Scripture. You don’t have to read a lot, just half a chapter of Mark (that’s a couple of paragraphs). Make the space in your life for a relationship with God, and be intentional about how you will use the time.
Finally, I offer two other thoughts. These thoughts are intended to help you keep at it. First, if you miss a day, that’s okay. No need to double-up on your reading or prayers. Just pick up where you left off. There is no pressure to meet any deadline. The only imperative is that we start today, not tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. Secondly, let’s read together shall we? I’ll make the commitment to read along beside you in my daily prayer. Furthermore, I’m making the commitment to be available to you to help you in your reading: Drop me an email, leave me a voicemail message. I will be reflecting regularly on my website about interesting and challenging bits of the text, and attempting to reflect on questions that emerge. I invite you to journey with me.
As I said earlier, prayer is not so much about doing. It is about being – being with God and being together as a Christian people. If we persevere in prayer we shall find God waiting patiently for us. And we shall find a God who helps us in our weakness and comforts us in our sorrow. We shall find a God who will be virtuous when we cannot be virtuous, who forgives when we cannot forgive, who does all those things that Paul commands even when we cannot. Yet, we shall also find that his virtues will become our virtues and yes, come to discover that his yoke is easy and his burden is light.
Text Copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed by any means, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 12:9-21
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
-- Romans 12:21
In today’s epistle, the Apostle reiterates some of the most important teachings that we find in the Gospel. He admonishes his audience to be genuine in love, hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good, love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in honour. Be ardent, zealous, hopeful, patient in suffering, persevere in prayer, and contribute to the needs of the saints. And finally, do not repay evil with evil, but overcome evil with good. Is it not true that many, if not all of these Christian virtues are difficult to observe and maintain? How many of us are truly able to turn the other cheek, or offer hospitality to one who has offended us? Are any of these virtues actually possible? How many of us actually live with the belief that good will indeed overcome evil?
If we have learned anything over the past several weeks of journeying with Paul, I hope that it is this, that these things are not possible without Christ. Indeed, if we seek these virtues under our own power we shall never attain to them. If these virtues are at all possible, it is our Lord and God working through us in Jesus Christ -- not me, but Christ in me. This is why the Apostle commands us to persevere in prayer. Prayer is at the heart of the Christian life. In prayer we bring before God the pains and sorrows of this weary world, and in prayer we lay before God our own brokenness and our sinfulness. What is more, in prayer we receive great peace. In prayer God enfolds us in love. In prayer, when all about us comes crashing down and all seems lost, God enfolds us in his loving arms and keeps us and reminds us that all shall indeed be well. In prayer, God reminds us not to be overcome by the world but to meet the world in its suffering.
Indeed, it was in suffering world to which our Lord Jesus Christ stretched out his hands on the cross, and it was this same suffering world that he redeemed in his Resurrection. Even on the road to the cross, even in Gethsemane, even on Golgotha – Jesus Christ was not overcome by evil, but overcame evil with good, for on the third day, as we all know, he rose from the dead, reconciling all things to God.
Yes, it is difficult for us to live with Christian virtue, to live in love and charity with our neighbour, and to love those who persecute us. But look to our Lord on the Cross and remember this, it is not me but Christ in me. It is not you, but Christ in you. Friends, if we rely on our own power to overcome evil with good, it shall never be done. But if we rely on Christ, who transforms us and transforms the world, all things are possible. It is not simply a matter of “what would Jesus do?” but “what has Jesus done.” He has trampled down the power of sin and death. He has overcome evil with what is good. And in him we have died to our old selves in order that we might be alive to God.
This is the truth to which Paul has spoken throughout the letter to the Romans, and this is the truth into which we are called to live. If we live into this truth we shall indeed be transformed and those Christian virtues that seem so difficult for each of us will become a way of life.
A man came to Jesus and asked him to heal his child who was severely afflicted. “Just believe,” Jesus told him. What was the man’s response? Was it not the response that might come from the lips of any of us – words of hope and yet words of doubt? “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.” This is where most of us stand, is it not, with a desire to believe, a desire to live the Christian life, but with a fear that it is all an illusion? Yet, in Jesus’ presence, the man was encouraged and his prayer was granted.
Persevere in prayer. This is perhaps the most important encouragement in today’s passage from Romans. It is, of course, a vow that each of us have made in our baptisms: “Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?” And what is our answer? “I will with God’s help.” Paul knows that we cannot do it on our own and thus in our Baptism we make our promise, which is actually a plea for help.
Persevere in prayer. How shall we do this? And is persevering in prayer a “work” toward our salvation, the kind of thing that Paul cautions against? I do not think so. For prayer, although often described as a work (and to be sure, prayer does take effort and discipline), is actually a way of being. It is a relationship rather than a task. Relationships take time and effort, but they are primarily about simply being together. So it is with prayer. Thus, if we believe that prayer is not so much a task but a relationship, then we believe that prayer is simply about being with God.
Now, how do we set about being with God, which is, I believe the primary task of prayer? First, I think that we must set aside a regular time to be with God, everyday. A relationship that does not have intention and commitment is really not a relationship at all. Set aside some time, even just a little bit. Think of how much joy it brings to you and a spouse, a friend or child, to have a regular bit of time together, even if it is just for a short while. Take the time.
Next, be intentional about how you spend the time. Any relationship is built upon shared experience and mutual conversation. What might time with God look like and what shape will our conversation take? Traditionally, our shared experience as a Christian people is the Holy Scripture. The Bible is our story. Our conversation is our reflection on this story, our grappling with it, our questioning of it, our praying it. There are many ways of prayer, but as Anglicans we have a particular gift, the gift of the Daily Office. The Daily Office is a daily cycle of daily prayer and reading in which we hear and pray the word of God day-by-day as a way of being with God and talking with God. If we hope to become a people with a passionate spirituality, then we must listen to God in our Holy Scripture and converse with God in prayer. There can be no substitute. We hear people say that the Bible does not have meaning for them, but have they chosen to take the time to read it faithfully in the context of prayer?
To this end, I issue you a challenge. I am calling this challenge “The Gospel of Mark Challenge.” I am encouraging, even challenging you, to take fifteen minutes every day to pray the Daily Office and read a little bit of Mark’s Gospel from beginning to end. The Gospel of St. Mark has sixteen chapters. This means that by reading half a chapter a day, you can read it through in about a month. But read it through as part of a little service that you do at a set time of the day, a time of your choosing. Many of you will own a Book of Alternative Services or Book of Common Prayer. Morning and Evening Prayer can be found in both these books. You can do a fuller or abbreviated service, depending on how you feel. You can do Morning or Evening Prayer; it is your choice. Each service makes provision for readings from Scripture. You don’t have to read a lot, just half a chapter of Mark (that’s a couple of paragraphs). Make the space in your life for a relationship with God, and be intentional about how you will use the time.
Finally, I offer two other thoughts. These thoughts are intended to help you keep at it. First, if you miss a day, that’s okay. No need to double-up on your reading or prayers. Just pick up where you left off. There is no pressure to meet any deadline. The only imperative is that we start today, not tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. Secondly, let’s read together shall we? I’ll make the commitment to read along beside you in my daily prayer. Furthermore, I’m making the commitment to be available to you to help you in your reading: Drop me an email, leave me a voicemail message. I will be reflecting regularly on my website about interesting and challenging bits of the text, and attempting to reflect on questions that emerge. I invite you to journey with me.
As I said earlier, prayer is not so much about doing. It is about being – being with God and being together as a Christian people. If we persevere in prayer we shall find God waiting patiently for us. And we shall find a God who helps us in our weakness and comforts us in our sorrow. We shall find a God who will be virtuous when we cannot be virtuous, who forgives when we cannot forgive, who does all those things that Paul commands even when we cannot. Yet, we shall also find that his virtues will become our virtues and yes, come to discover that his yoke is easy and his burden is light.
Text Copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed by any means, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Becoming Who I Am
Homily for Proper 21, Year A
Sunday, August 24th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 12:1-8
“So that you may discern the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
-- Romans 12:2
Who am I? What is my place in the world, in the Church, and in the kingdom of God? These are questions that cut to the core of our being and essential for each of us to address if we are to live out our lives with purpose and according to God’s will. These are also questions to which St. Paul turns in the twelfth chapter of St. Paul’s letter to the Romans. Having spent the previous eleven chapters probing very deeply the theological essence and understanding of new life in Christ, Paul turns from an exposition of the content of faith to offering ethical instruction on how we are to live as Christian people. He begins by addressing the very question that cuts to the core of each of us, the existential question: Who am I and what is my reason for being?
Thus, I suggest that in these few chapters Paul is addressing the question of our authenticity as Christian people. If we are born anew in Christ, if indeed we have died with him in the waters of baptism, who have we become as we are raised to new life and live in him? His answer, I believe, is threefold. If we are indeed alive to God in Christ, he calls us first to uncover who we are in our relationship with the living God. Secondly, he asks us to consider who we are with respect to the world in which we live. And finally, he exhorts us to consider our relationship with each other in our participation in the body of Christ, that is, the Church.
Consider for a moment the first point. Who are we, who have we become, or better yet, who are we becoming in our relationship with the living God. Paul exhorts us to “present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God which is our spiritual worship. These words would have certainly evoked within the original hearers several admonishments from the Hebrew Scriptures, for example, Hosea 6:6, “For I desires steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings”, and of course, Psalm 50:14, “Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and pay your vows to the most High.” Thus, Paul was surely evoking both within the narrative thought world of his first century Jewish listeners and the cultural world of his gentile audience a traditional image of sacrifice turned on its head – the offering of self, rather than ritual, cultic sacrifice.
Some months ago, I spoke about a similar passage found in the First Letter of Peter, and I drew the obvious connection to our post-communion prayer from the BCP: “And here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves, our souls and bodies to be a reasonable, holy and living sacrifice unto thee.” I do not wish to traverse extensively over ground upon which I have so recently trod, but I do wish to point out that where the New Revised Standard Version of our Bible reads “spiritual worship” in Romans 12:1, the term might be better translated, “reasonable worship.” The BCP prayer certainly picks up this variant meaning. Furthermore, in ancient parlance, to say that we present “our bodies,” is to be understood as connoting “our whole selves.” Thus, in St. Paul’s understanding, what God asks of us is the offering of our whole selves, not just our minds or our hearts, but also our bodies, to God. We offer to God all that we are and all that we have. Again, this evokes a well-known saying of Jesus (which he actually cribbed from the Hebrew Scriptures), “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.”
Now, at the outset this might seem to sound like a tall order, but I suggest that it instead rather simple, and indeed, quite liberating. Consider this: God does not ask us to offer what we have not or who we are not, but to offer what we have and who we are. This is what is reasonable and holy in the sight of God. It involves no striving, nor perfection. We are who we are, good or bad, and all the complexity in-between; wherever we are, who ever we are, whenever we are – God asks us to come to him, as the old hymn says, “Just as I am.” It is the entirety of our being that God seeks. Not just our spirits, souls, or minds, but also our bodies, all that has been created in his image, all that he deemed good in our creation, and yes, also every thing and every way in which we have failed to conform to that image. Just as I am.
This inevitably leads to the second point, found in verse two, in which Paul exhorts us not to be conformed to the world (or more literally, to the present age), but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that we may discern the will of God. Thus the question becomes, “Who am I in this present age; in this beautiful, wonderful, but confusing, complicated, and oft-disappointing world?” Well, if we have come to understand that we are God’s and that in Christ we offer ourselves back to him, then we cannot belong to another. The present age cannot be our master. Who then, are we to be with respect to the world? About one thing, we must be perfectly clear, and I believe Paul is clear on this point because he would not have offered extensive moral exhortation about how to live in the world if he did not believe it, namely, that the Christian life is not about escapism. Just as it is not about escaping our bodies, as the Gnostics and their modern heirs would have, neither is it about escaping this present world. The world is God’s creation. All creation belongs to God. All time is His. Yet, there are forces and powers in this age that rebel against God and his good creation. Indeed, within us we sense sinful desires that draw us from the love of God. Lest we think that these are all external forces, let us remember that each of us has within us the capacity to do great harm to our fellow human beings. Thus, let us not be conformed to what draws us from God, but be transformed. What can this mean, though, to be transformed. I suggest that it means nothing less than learning to see with the eyes of God – to see the world as God sees it, with love, hope, compassion and delight. What is more, it means that we must begin to see ourselves as God sees us, with love, hope, compassion and delight. A recurring theme in the letters of Paul, found especially in Philippians chapter 2, is the exhortation that we might have the mind of Christ. That is, to see as God sees, to act as God acts, to relate to each other and the world as God would relate to us.
We are fond of saying that we were created in image and likeness of God, but Eastern Orthodox theology makes a certain distinction: We were created in the image of God and while that image may be become tarnished it is never completed obscured. God, thus, became man that we might be transformed into his likeness. To be transformed in Christ is to find our truest self, which is both the image and likeness of God. Therefore, in the words of a prominent theologian H.A. Williams, the Christian life is the process of “becoming who I am.” Or to think of it another way, the Christian life is about learning to see myself as God sees me, not through my own eyes but through the eyes of Christ. When we can do this, then we shall the world as God sees it and understand more clearly our place in it.
Finally, we come to ask the question, who am I in the Kingdom of God? As Paul does, elsewhere, he invokes the image of a body, not just any body, but the body of Christ. And as Paul made clear to the Corinthians, so too he explains to the Romans, a body has many parts, and all the parts are necessary to the ordered working of the whole. Whereas the problem in Corinth was that one wanted to be hand when they were a foot, and another wanted to be an eye when they were an ear, in Romans Paul is simply offering the metaphor as a way of understanding that our callings and vocations are gifts from God. Each of us are given talents and skills which we are to offer for the building of the kingdom. Consider again the prayer, we offer “our selves, our souls and bodies,” which is our reasonable worship. Thus, to take up our gifts, to live into them, to live them out is also an act of worship. Paul identifies seven gifts because in the ancient world seven was the number of perfection. The number is purely symbolic; there are as many gifts as there are people. Thus, it is my duty to ask you to consider, explore, and discern your gifts. What is the special talent God has given you? Have your nurtured that gift? Have you honoured that gift? Have you used it for the building up of God’s kingdom? St. Paul also tells us that God gives us a measure of faith with our gifts that enables us to activate them, engage them, to live into them that we might faithfully fulfill the work to which we are called, not only as individuals but as a holy people, God’s Holy Church. When each of us faithfully engages our gifts, then together, as the body of Christ, we can be so much more than simply the sum of our parts, we can bring Christ’s body to the world – A body that has the power to heal a broken humanity and a broken world.
Who am I? What is my place in the world? Who is God calling me to be in his kingdom? The answer of course is simple: God is calling me to be me. Not as I see myself, but as God sees me. God is calling each of us, in our brokenness, and yes, even our sinfulness to become who we are. God is calling us, in the midst of an age that seeks but refuses to see, to see ourselves as he sees us. God is calling us to look within ourselves and claim our talents and skills. God is calling us to look at ourselves and the world through the his eyes, to have the mind of Christ in all things, and most of all, to become who we are, a holy people created in the image of God and growing day by day into his likeness.
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, August 24th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 12:1-8
“So that you may discern the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
-- Romans 12:2
Who am I? What is my place in the world, in the Church, and in the kingdom of God? These are questions that cut to the core of our being and essential for each of us to address if we are to live out our lives with purpose and according to God’s will. These are also questions to which St. Paul turns in the twelfth chapter of St. Paul’s letter to the Romans. Having spent the previous eleven chapters probing very deeply the theological essence and understanding of new life in Christ, Paul turns from an exposition of the content of faith to offering ethical instruction on how we are to live as Christian people. He begins by addressing the very question that cuts to the core of each of us, the existential question: Who am I and what is my reason for being?
Thus, I suggest that in these few chapters Paul is addressing the question of our authenticity as Christian people. If we are born anew in Christ, if indeed we have died with him in the waters of baptism, who have we become as we are raised to new life and live in him? His answer, I believe, is threefold. If we are indeed alive to God in Christ, he calls us first to uncover who we are in our relationship with the living God. Secondly, he asks us to consider who we are with respect to the world in which we live. And finally, he exhorts us to consider our relationship with each other in our participation in the body of Christ, that is, the Church.
Consider for a moment the first point. Who are we, who have we become, or better yet, who are we becoming in our relationship with the living God. Paul exhorts us to “present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God which is our spiritual worship. These words would have certainly evoked within the original hearers several admonishments from the Hebrew Scriptures, for example, Hosea 6:6, “For I desires steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings”, and of course, Psalm 50:14, “Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and pay your vows to the most High.” Thus, Paul was surely evoking both within the narrative thought world of his first century Jewish listeners and the cultural world of his gentile audience a traditional image of sacrifice turned on its head – the offering of self, rather than ritual, cultic sacrifice.
Some months ago, I spoke about a similar passage found in the First Letter of Peter, and I drew the obvious connection to our post-communion prayer from the BCP: “And here we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves, our souls and bodies to be a reasonable, holy and living sacrifice unto thee.” I do not wish to traverse extensively over ground upon which I have so recently trod, but I do wish to point out that where the New Revised Standard Version of our Bible reads “spiritual worship” in Romans 12:1, the term might be better translated, “reasonable worship.” The BCP prayer certainly picks up this variant meaning. Furthermore, in ancient parlance, to say that we present “our bodies,” is to be understood as connoting “our whole selves.” Thus, in St. Paul’s understanding, what God asks of us is the offering of our whole selves, not just our minds or our hearts, but also our bodies, to God. We offer to God all that we are and all that we have. Again, this evokes a well-known saying of Jesus (which he actually cribbed from the Hebrew Scriptures), “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.”
Now, at the outset this might seem to sound like a tall order, but I suggest that it instead rather simple, and indeed, quite liberating. Consider this: God does not ask us to offer what we have not or who we are not, but to offer what we have and who we are. This is what is reasonable and holy in the sight of God. It involves no striving, nor perfection. We are who we are, good or bad, and all the complexity in-between; wherever we are, who ever we are, whenever we are – God asks us to come to him, as the old hymn says, “Just as I am.” It is the entirety of our being that God seeks. Not just our spirits, souls, or minds, but also our bodies, all that has been created in his image, all that he deemed good in our creation, and yes, also every thing and every way in which we have failed to conform to that image. Just as I am.
This inevitably leads to the second point, found in verse two, in which Paul exhorts us not to be conformed to the world (or more literally, to the present age), but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that we may discern the will of God. Thus the question becomes, “Who am I in this present age; in this beautiful, wonderful, but confusing, complicated, and oft-disappointing world?” Well, if we have come to understand that we are God’s and that in Christ we offer ourselves back to him, then we cannot belong to another. The present age cannot be our master. Who then, are we to be with respect to the world? About one thing, we must be perfectly clear, and I believe Paul is clear on this point because he would not have offered extensive moral exhortation about how to live in the world if he did not believe it, namely, that the Christian life is not about escapism. Just as it is not about escaping our bodies, as the Gnostics and their modern heirs would have, neither is it about escaping this present world. The world is God’s creation. All creation belongs to God. All time is His. Yet, there are forces and powers in this age that rebel against God and his good creation. Indeed, within us we sense sinful desires that draw us from the love of God. Lest we think that these are all external forces, let us remember that each of us has within us the capacity to do great harm to our fellow human beings. Thus, let us not be conformed to what draws us from God, but be transformed. What can this mean, though, to be transformed. I suggest that it means nothing less than learning to see with the eyes of God – to see the world as God sees it, with love, hope, compassion and delight. What is more, it means that we must begin to see ourselves as God sees us, with love, hope, compassion and delight. A recurring theme in the letters of Paul, found especially in Philippians chapter 2, is the exhortation that we might have the mind of Christ. That is, to see as God sees, to act as God acts, to relate to each other and the world as God would relate to us.
We are fond of saying that we were created in image and likeness of God, but Eastern Orthodox theology makes a certain distinction: We were created in the image of God and while that image may be become tarnished it is never completed obscured. God, thus, became man that we might be transformed into his likeness. To be transformed in Christ is to find our truest self, which is both the image and likeness of God. Therefore, in the words of a prominent theologian H.A. Williams, the Christian life is the process of “becoming who I am.” Or to think of it another way, the Christian life is about learning to see myself as God sees me, not through my own eyes but through the eyes of Christ. When we can do this, then we shall the world as God sees it and understand more clearly our place in it.
Finally, we come to ask the question, who am I in the Kingdom of God? As Paul does, elsewhere, he invokes the image of a body, not just any body, but the body of Christ. And as Paul made clear to the Corinthians, so too he explains to the Romans, a body has many parts, and all the parts are necessary to the ordered working of the whole. Whereas the problem in Corinth was that one wanted to be hand when they were a foot, and another wanted to be an eye when they were an ear, in Romans Paul is simply offering the metaphor as a way of understanding that our callings and vocations are gifts from God. Each of us are given talents and skills which we are to offer for the building of the kingdom. Consider again the prayer, we offer “our selves, our souls and bodies,” which is our reasonable worship. Thus, to take up our gifts, to live into them, to live them out is also an act of worship. Paul identifies seven gifts because in the ancient world seven was the number of perfection. The number is purely symbolic; there are as many gifts as there are people. Thus, it is my duty to ask you to consider, explore, and discern your gifts. What is the special talent God has given you? Have your nurtured that gift? Have you honoured that gift? Have you used it for the building up of God’s kingdom? St. Paul also tells us that God gives us a measure of faith with our gifts that enables us to activate them, engage them, to live into them that we might faithfully fulfill the work to which we are called, not only as individuals but as a holy people, God’s Holy Church. When each of us faithfully engages our gifts, then together, as the body of Christ, we can be so much more than simply the sum of our parts, we can bring Christ’s body to the world – A body that has the power to heal a broken humanity and a broken world.
Who am I? What is my place in the world? Who is God calling me to be in his kingdom? The answer of course is simple: God is calling me to be me. Not as I see myself, but as God sees me. God is calling each of us, in our brokenness, and yes, even our sinfulness to become who we are. God is calling us, in the midst of an age that seeks but refuses to see, to see ourselves as he sees us. God is calling us to look within ourselves and claim our talents and skills. God is calling us to look at ourselves and the world through the his eyes, to have the mind of Christ in all things, and most of all, to become who we are, a holy people created in the image of God and growing day by day into his likeness.
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, August 17, 2008
Shall We Mistake the Branch for the Root?
Homily for Proper 20, Year A
Sunday, August 17th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
“For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.”
-- Romans 11:29
The Revised Common Lectionary, the ecumenical table of readings from Scripture that we follow week by week has been a blessing to the Church. In adopting this lectionary, mainstream Christian denominations, such as Anglicans, Roman Catholics, The United Church, Presbyterians, and Lutherans (amongst others) are committed to a shared journey through the same weekly lessons from Scripture over a three-year cycle. Much more of the Bible is read than many of us ever covered before in our respective denominational lectionaries; and yet, there are still portions that are left unread. Such is the case with today’s reading from Romans in which we read the first verse-and-a-half of Romans chapter eleven and then skip ahead to verses twenty-nine through thirty-two. As a result the intervening verses are never read during the regular Sunday worship in churches that follow the Revised Common Lectionary.
Why did the framers of the lectionary leave out certain portions of Scripture? While I rejoice in the fact that we have a shared ecumenical lectionary and I encourage its use, the omission of certain portions of Scripture has continued to bother me throughout the years. I first recognized this tendency in the lectionary some years ago when I was preaching on the twenty-second chapter of the Book of Revelation, which contains a series of “blessings and woes.” The lectionary only included every other verse, the ones with the blessings, while the woes were omitted. Indeed, when one canvasses which passages from Revelation actually make the cut it becomes clear that most difficult passages have been removed and the ones that remain are the hymnic passages in which hosts gather round the throne and praise God. Several other examples could be cited.
At the time that I first encountered this editorial policy, I had the good fortune to be a staff member of the National Office of the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada. One of my fellow staff members had been a member of the editorial committee of the Revised Common Lectionary. I asked this person why these decisions were made and was told that some of the more difficult passages were removed because the preacher would have to spend a lot of time explaining the difficult parts of the text before they could ever get to preaching the Good News.
Well, that answer never really satisfied me. First of all, I believe that the difficult passages of Scripture are to be confronted and grappled with. Secondly, it places a low estimation on the preachers of the Church and their ability to deal with difficult passages of Scripture (You, the faithful people of the Church will, of course, be the ones ultimately to decide if this assumption is justified). And finally, given that today is one of those cases in which a significant chunk of Scripture has been edited out, I have had to spend the first third of my sermon explaining why it has been excised. Perhaps the time would have been better-spent exegeting the text rather than exegeting the rationale of the lectionary editors. To this end, I turn to today’s text from Romans, what is there and what is not.
In the eleventh chapter of Romans, Paul is wrestling with the fate of Israel, given the dawning of a new age in the Christ event. As Paul has been arguing throughout the letter, we are saved not by works of the Law but rather through God’s grace and are made righteous by faith. Now, if this is indeed the case, what is to become of those with whom the first covenant was made, namely historic Israel? Lest we think this to be either an academic or merely historical question, let us consider for an instant that this question might be very germane in this very community of Thornhill in which we live, a community in which Christian and Jew live side-by-side.
In the missing chapters Paul seeks to explain the fate of Israel. The heart of his argument is this: that because Israel rejected the Jesus as Messiah, this created an opportunity for the gentiles to receive Christ, and thus be grafted onto the tree of Israel. In Paul’s reasoning God used the tragedy of Israel’s disobedience to bring about his purpose of including all of humanity in the family of God, and not simply one nation, alone. We should also note that Paul did not create this theology ex nihilo. Rather, we know from the prophets that Israel expected the incorporation of the gentiles into their nation. Indeed, consider texts such as Isaiah 60, “The gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.” Thus, Paul stands within a tradition of Jewish theologizing about the incorporation of the gentiles. Furthermore, he states that God has allowed a remnant to remain faithful, presumably those who chose to follow the Christ. Indeed Paul writes to a mixed Jewish/Gentile Christian community in Rome. Now, to our modern sensibilities this may seem a distasteful notion, that only Jews who became Christians would be considered part of the true Israel, but again, Paul is consistent with his biblical tradition in which again and again, the people of Israel refuse to follow God while a remnant remains to faithfully lead the way forward to a renewed covenant relationship with God. Paul is a thoroughly Jewish theologian in this respect.
The problem to be faced in this passage by modern interpreters – the problem the framers of the lectionary wish to protect us from considering – is what is called, in technical terms, supersessionism. Supersessionism is the belief that Christianity has superceded and indeed replaced Judaism. It is a belief that Judaism is no longer a viable religion, nor an authentic way to God. It asserts that in rejecting the Jesus as the Christ, Jews have not only abandoned any hope of salvation but that God has indeed revoked his covenant with them. Is this what St. Paul is actually saying?
On one level it would appear so. In fact, he asserts that the incorporation of gentiles into Israel and the example of their faith will be the cause for those Jews not among the remnant to once again be reincorporated. Yet, this is not the end purpose of Paul’s discussion -- he is not satisfied either to pass judgment on those members of Israel who have not turned to Christ, nor is he satisfied to assert that they are cut off from God. As the lectionary editors have left out the problematic text, they have also left out a text in which Paul grapples with the very problem he presents. In response to this problem, Paul offers the image of an olive tree. Certain branches (i.e., disobedient members of Israel) have been broken off and trimmed, while the gentiles (i.e., us), a wild olive shoot, have been grafted into their place to “share in the rich root of the olive tree.” Yet he adds that while it was true that some were broken off through unbelief, we only remain through faith. We must never forget that we, too, are but branches and that we, too, may be trimmed should we mistake ourselves for a root or trunk, rather than a branch. As James Dunn, a prominent Anglican scholar of St. Paul remarks, (Dunn: Theology of St. Paul, 526) “there is no room for pride, which is the antithesis of faith, only godly fear.” Dunn goes on to point out that Paul’s metaphor is that of a single tree, not one that is cut down and replaced by another. Thus, we are grafted onto the tree of Israel and the roots are the patriarchs & prophets. This, of course, is why we do not abandon the Hebrew Scriptures but choose to read them as part of our Christian Canon of Scripture. And what is more, the Hebrew Bible continues to maintain its revelatory power as sacred Scripture for Jews of any age, and yet as Christians, reading it in the context of the Incarnation & Resurrection, Hebrew Scriptures are also Christian Scriptures that point to, and reveal the Christ.
The whole point of Paul’s metaphor of the tree is simple: Having been grafted on to the tree – shall we lord it over others? The branch does not support the tree, the root does. To this end we share in a journey with our Jewish brothers and sisters who draw life from the same root and occupy the same tree. All of us are living “between the times,” we are caught between present and future fulfillment. As Christians, we have had died and are risen with Christ and yet we wait to taste that bodily resurrection from the dead. Similarly, our Jewish brothers and sisters who have received the Law devoutly follow it, and yet also await its consummation.
As I noted earlier, the concept of the gentiles becoming incorporated into Israel was an important theme of the prophetic books of the Hebrew Bible. But what we learn from this chapter of Romans is that the concept of Israel is more expansive than the Jews expected – the gentiles did come understand the God of Israel as their creator and Saviour – but not through the law but rather through the grace of God in Christ. The challenge is for us both to see each other as members of God’s family and as members of the house of Israel. This is a difficult task given our competing claims of exclusivity. It is difficult for both for Jews and for Christians. On the one hand, for Jews the requirement to uphold the law would seem to exclude Christians who reject the works of the Law. On the other hand, Christian claims of the exclusivity of Christ, especially given our appeal to texts such as John 14:6 (No one comes to the Father except through me), exclude those who do not come to God through the second person of the Trinity. What makes this all the more problematic is the fact that Christians and Jews have fought, slandered and abused each other (and there is blame on both sides, here), rather than seeing ourselves as children of the same God and branches on the same tree.
The challenge for us as Christians is not only to consider a broader understanding of Israel than we had previously thought (and this remains a challenge as well for our Jewish siblings), but also to remain open to the reality that perhaps there are other branches on the tree as well. Shall we be swift to condemn and mistake ourselves for a root when we are but a branch? In this metaphor of the olive tree Paul cautions us against believing that we hold a place of privilege above others in the eyes of God.
I recognize, though that this conclusion does not answer every question or hold up against every proof-text which claims either Jewish or Christian exclusivity. To this end I offer my own humble experience: As a Christian person, I have an experience of the living God in Christ. I know Christ to be my saviour and through our Scriptures, the lives of the saints, the lives of faithful Christians known to me, I know him to be the Saviour and redeemer of Christian People everywhere, and yes, even Saviour of the World. This is the point from which I must invariably begin. But I cannot speak for others or from the perspective of others, who claim as well to have an experience and relationship with the living God. Yet, shall my certainty of God’s offering in Christ prevent me from sitting down with another and seeking to understand them? And worse, shall my certainty lead me to condemn them. God forbid it, for we are all God’s children.
There is a sobering thing about what Paul is saying. He suggests that the stumbling of one branch of Israel is what brought us (the gentiles) into Israel. Shall my stumbling and lack of understanding be the thing makes room for another? I must face the reality that it may not be my faithful preaching, my zealous belief, my longing for God that allows another branch to be grafted on, but my stumbling, my mistakes, and my brokenness. The fearsome reality of God is that God can make use of my brokenness, disobedience and imperfection to bring about the fullness of his will just as easily as he can make use of my obedience and zeal, for as St. Paul says in Romans 11:32, “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience that he may be merciful to all.” We are all sinners: Christians, Jews, and Muslims, what have you. If we are human then we sin. If we are human we are prone to arrogance. If we are human, we are imperfect. God alone is sovereign and perfect. But we must always remember, if we are human, God’s mercy is open to us all.
In the end, and this is indeed the part of the passage included by the editors of the lectionary, Paul opts to believe in the expansive graciousness of God. He states emphatically about God’s covenant with historic Israel, “The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.” Therefore, let us meet each other in a spirit of humility, bringing not only the fullness of our convictions and beliefs, but also a recognition of the sovereignty of God and a healthy sense of our own limitations. Let us sit together, in silence if necessary, but at least together, that God may bring about the work of reconciliation, and that the tree of Israel, which is the whole human family, may grow into fullness and beauty in the sight of God.
“O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable are his ways!”
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, August 17th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
“For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.”
-- Romans 11:29
The Revised Common Lectionary, the ecumenical table of readings from Scripture that we follow week by week has been a blessing to the Church. In adopting this lectionary, mainstream Christian denominations, such as Anglicans, Roman Catholics, The United Church, Presbyterians, and Lutherans (amongst others) are committed to a shared journey through the same weekly lessons from Scripture over a three-year cycle. Much more of the Bible is read than many of us ever covered before in our respective denominational lectionaries; and yet, there are still portions that are left unread. Such is the case with today’s reading from Romans in which we read the first verse-and-a-half of Romans chapter eleven and then skip ahead to verses twenty-nine through thirty-two. As a result the intervening verses are never read during the regular Sunday worship in churches that follow the Revised Common Lectionary.
Why did the framers of the lectionary leave out certain portions of Scripture? While I rejoice in the fact that we have a shared ecumenical lectionary and I encourage its use, the omission of certain portions of Scripture has continued to bother me throughout the years. I first recognized this tendency in the lectionary some years ago when I was preaching on the twenty-second chapter of the Book of Revelation, which contains a series of “blessings and woes.” The lectionary only included every other verse, the ones with the blessings, while the woes were omitted. Indeed, when one canvasses which passages from Revelation actually make the cut it becomes clear that most difficult passages have been removed and the ones that remain are the hymnic passages in which hosts gather round the throne and praise God. Several other examples could be cited.
At the time that I first encountered this editorial policy, I had the good fortune to be a staff member of the National Office of the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada. One of my fellow staff members had been a member of the editorial committee of the Revised Common Lectionary. I asked this person why these decisions were made and was told that some of the more difficult passages were removed because the preacher would have to spend a lot of time explaining the difficult parts of the text before they could ever get to preaching the Good News.
Well, that answer never really satisfied me. First of all, I believe that the difficult passages of Scripture are to be confronted and grappled with. Secondly, it places a low estimation on the preachers of the Church and their ability to deal with difficult passages of Scripture (You, the faithful people of the Church will, of course, be the ones ultimately to decide if this assumption is justified). And finally, given that today is one of those cases in which a significant chunk of Scripture has been edited out, I have had to spend the first third of my sermon explaining why it has been excised. Perhaps the time would have been better-spent exegeting the text rather than exegeting the rationale of the lectionary editors. To this end, I turn to today’s text from Romans, what is there and what is not.
In the eleventh chapter of Romans, Paul is wrestling with the fate of Israel, given the dawning of a new age in the Christ event. As Paul has been arguing throughout the letter, we are saved not by works of the Law but rather through God’s grace and are made righteous by faith. Now, if this is indeed the case, what is to become of those with whom the first covenant was made, namely historic Israel? Lest we think this to be either an academic or merely historical question, let us consider for an instant that this question might be very germane in this very community of Thornhill in which we live, a community in which Christian and Jew live side-by-side.
In the missing chapters Paul seeks to explain the fate of Israel. The heart of his argument is this: that because Israel rejected the Jesus as Messiah, this created an opportunity for the gentiles to receive Christ, and thus be grafted onto the tree of Israel. In Paul’s reasoning God used the tragedy of Israel’s disobedience to bring about his purpose of including all of humanity in the family of God, and not simply one nation, alone. We should also note that Paul did not create this theology ex nihilo. Rather, we know from the prophets that Israel expected the incorporation of the gentiles into their nation. Indeed, consider texts such as Isaiah 60, “The gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.” Thus, Paul stands within a tradition of Jewish theologizing about the incorporation of the gentiles. Furthermore, he states that God has allowed a remnant to remain faithful, presumably those who chose to follow the Christ. Indeed Paul writes to a mixed Jewish/Gentile Christian community in Rome. Now, to our modern sensibilities this may seem a distasteful notion, that only Jews who became Christians would be considered part of the true Israel, but again, Paul is consistent with his biblical tradition in which again and again, the people of Israel refuse to follow God while a remnant remains to faithfully lead the way forward to a renewed covenant relationship with God. Paul is a thoroughly Jewish theologian in this respect.
The problem to be faced in this passage by modern interpreters – the problem the framers of the lectionary wish to protect us from considering – is what is called, in technical terms, supersessionism. Supersessionism is the belief that Christianity has superceded and indeed replaced Judaism. It is a belief that Judaism is no longer a viable religion, nor an authentic way to God. It asserts that in rejecting the Jesus as the Christ, Jews have not only abandoned any hope of salvation but that God has indeed revoked his covenant with them. Is this what St. Paul is actually saying?
On one level it would appear so. In fact, he asserts that the incorporation of gentiles into Israel and the example of their faith will be the cause for those Jews not among the remnant to once again be reincorporated. Yet, this is not the end purpose of Paul’s discussion -- he is not satisfied either to pass judgment on those members of Israel who have not turned to Christ, nor is he satisfied to assert that they are cut off from God. As the lectionary editors have left out the problematic text, they have also left out a text in which Paul grapples with the very problem he presents. In response to this problem, Paul offers the image of an olive tree. Certain branches (i.e., disobedient members of Israel) have been broken off and trimmed, while the gentiles (i.e., us), a wild olive shoot, have been grafted into their place to “share in the rich root of the olive tree.” Yet he adds that while it was true that some were broken off through unbelief, we only remain through faith. We must never forget that we, too, are but branches and that we, too, may be trimmed should we mistake ourselves for a root or trunk, rather than a branch. As James Dunn, a prominent Anglican scholar of St. Paul remarks, (Dunn: Theology of St. Paul, 526) “there is no room for pride, which is the antithesis of faith, only godly fear.” Dunn goes on to point out that Paul’s metaphor is that of a single tree, not one that is cut down and replaced by another. Thus, we are grafted onto the tree of Israel and the roots are the patriarchs & prophets. This, of course, is why we do not abandon the Hebrew Scriptures but choose to read them as part of our Christian Canon of Scripture. And what is more, the Hebrew Bible continues to maintain its revelatory power as sacred Scripture for Jews of any age, and yet as Christians, reading it in the context of the Incarnation & Resurrection, Hebrew Scriptures are also Christian Scriptures that point to, and reveal the Christ.
The whole point of Paul’s metaphor of the tree is simple: Having been grafted on to the tree – shall we lord it over others? The branch does not support the tree, the root does. To this end we share in a journey with our Jewish brothers and sisters who draw life from the same root and occupy the same tree. All of us are living “between the times,” we are caught between present and future fulfillment. As Christians, we have had died and are risen with Christ and yet we wait to taste that bodily resurrection from the dead. Similarly, our Jewish brothers and sisters who have received the Law devoutly follow it, and yet also await its consummation.
As I noted earlier, the concept of the gentiles becoming incorporated into Israel was an important theme of the prophetic books of the Hebrew Bible. But what we learn from this chapter of Romans is that the concept of Israel is more expansive than the Jews expected – the gentiles did come understand the God of Israel as their creator and Saviour – but not through the law but rather through the grace of God in Christ. The challenge is for us both to see each other as members of God’s family and as members of the house of Israel. This is a difficult task given our competing claims of exclusivity. It is difficult for both for Jews and for Christians. On the one hand, for Jews the requirement to uphold the law would seem to exclude Christians who reject the works of the Law. On the other hand, Christian claims of the exclusivity of Christ, especially given our appeal to texts such as John 14:6 (No one comes to the Father except through me), exclude those who do not come to God through the second person of the Trinity. What makes this all the more problematic is the fact that Christians and Jews have fought, slandered and abused each other (and there is blame on both sides, here), rather than seeing ourselves as children of the same God and branches on the same tree.
The challenge for us as Christians is not only to consider a broader understanding of Israel than we had previously thought (and this remains a challenge as well for our Jewish siblings), but also to remain open to the reality that perhaps there are other branches on the tree as well. Shall we be swift to condemn and mistake ourselves for a root when we are but a branch? In this metaphor of the olive tree Paul cautions us against believing that we hold a place of privilege above others in the eyes of God.
I recognize, though that this conclusion does not answer every question or hold up against every proof-text which claims either Jewish or Christian exclusivity. To this end I offer my own humble experience: As a Christian person, I have an experience of the living God in Christ. I know Christ to be my saviour and through our Scriptures, the lives of the saints, the lives of faithful Christians known to me, I know him to be the Saviour and redeemer of Christian People everywhere, and yes, even Saviour of the World. This is the point from which I must invariably begin. But I cannot speak for others or from the perspective of others, who claim as well to have an experience and relationship with the living God. Yet, shall my certainty of God’s offering in Christ prevent me from sitting down with another and seeking to understand them? And worse, shall my certainty lead me to condemn them. God forbid it, for we are all God’s children.
There is a sobering thing about what Paul is saying. He suggests that the stumbling of one branch of Israel is what brought us (the gentiles) into Israel. Shall my stumbling and lack of understanding be the thing makes room for another? I must face the reality that it may not be my faithful preaching, my zealous belief, my longing for God that allows another branch to be grafted on, but my stumbling, my mistakes, and my brokenness. The fearsome reality of God is that God can make use of my brokenness, disobedience and imperfection to bring about the fullness of his will just as easily as he can make use of my obedience and zeal, for as St. Paul says in Romans 11:32, “For God has imprisoned all in disobedience that he may be merciful to all.” We are all sinners: Christians, Jews, and Muslims, what have you. If we are human then we sin. If we are human we are prone to arrogance. If we are human, we are imperfect. God alone is sovereign and perfect. But we must always remember, if we are human, God’s mercy is open to us all.
In the end, and this is indeed the part of the passage included by the editors of the lectionary, Paul opts to believe in the expansive graciousness of God. He states emphatically about God’s covenant with historic Israel, “The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.” Therefore, let us meet each other in a spirit of humility, bringing not only the fullness of our convictions and beliefs, but also a recognition of the sovereignty of God and a healthy sense of our own limitations. Let us sit together, in silence if necessary, but at least together, that God may bring about the work of reconciliation, and that the tree of Israel, which is the whole human family, may grow into fullness and beauty in the sight of God.
“O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable are his ways!”
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, August 10, 2008
The Word is Near You
Homily for Proper 19 Year A
Sunday, August 10th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 10:5-15
“The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.”
--Romans 10:8
Perhaps, at our best, human beings are seekers. We are always seeking after what we do not know or do not have. And seeking, at its best, is a noble endeavour. Indeed, in philosophy, the goal of human existence was to seek out the “good life.” The good life was not, of course, something that was good only for me, but good for the whole community and ultimately, for the whole human family. To seek after the good life was to seek after truth, beauty, justice, and wholeness. To place this philosophy firmly in a Christian context, seeking after such things is to seek God, for in God we find truth, beauty, justice, and wholeness. To this end, Jesus implores us to seek: “Ask, and it will be given you; search and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” Most importantly, he reminds us, “seek first the kingdom of God.” To seek is a godly thing and a Christian virtue.
Seeking can, of course, have its dark side. When the goal of our seeking is not the philosophical good life, when it is not the seeking after of the truth, beauty, justice and wholeness of God, our seeking can take a disastrous turn. When we become obsessed with seeking after our own glorification, or less maliciously, even our own betterment in a naïve disregard for the rest of our community and family, we run the risk of following the path that leads to a life that that while it may appear to be good in fleeting glances, is ultimately empty and without meaning or hope. St. Paul would surely add that seeking under our own power is likewise an exercise in futility and a path that leads not to a deepening of our relationship with God but to our estrangement from our Father and Creator.
It is to this end that St. Paul writes passionately in Romans chapter ten about a Christ who seeks us out and finds us that we might find him! Continuing his unwrapping of the concept of justification by faith he remarks that this justification (or righteousness) reminds us that we do not have to travel great lengths in our searching for Christ. He states, “Do not say in your heart, ‘Who will ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down) or, ‘Who will descend into the abyss?’ (that is to bring Christ up from the dead).” We do not need to go searching for Christ who has traversed both the heavens and the depths of hell; instead, we shall find him very near to us. For indeed, the whole point that Christ descended from the highest heights to the lowest depths and again ascended on high is that he might gather to himself the whole of creation; that he might draw each one of us to him and make us his own; that he might seek us out as we seek after the true purpose of our existence, the proverbial “good life” of God in Christ. Shall we then grope about high and low for him? Shall we assume that he is somewhere else and inaccessible to us? Shall we believe that it is only through another that we can find him?
By no means! For Paul goes on to say “The word is near you!” Quoting the author of Deuteronomy he states, “It is on your lips and in you heart!” And thus turns what was spoken about the Law into a truism about the Gospel. The word of life need not be sought out in far and distant places but as close as home, in my own very core and on my lips, if I have indeed believed in the one who has risen from the dead.
To Paul’s audience, “the word” certainly referred to the preaching of the gospel, that is the good news that God raised Jesus from the dead -- a marvelous act in which he has offered new life and salvation to all those who believe in him. And yet, as Christians with the benefit of having read the Gospel of John, as Christians with the benefit of the wisdom of the early Church Fathers, and with the benefit of the knowledge of the theological debates that led to the formulation of the Nicene Creed, we understand the meaning of “the word,” on a deeper level, namely that Christ is The Word of God, himself. He is The Word through which all was created and through which the whole cosmos is redeemed and reconciled to God. And so to say that the word is near you, on your lips and in your hearts is to say that, for Christian people, Jesus Christ is with us always, or in the words of St. Matthew, he is Emmanuel – God with us. Indeed, he is with us even unto the end of the age. That is why if we but seek, we shall indeed find, not by searching high and low, in the heavens or in the depths, but in the faith of our hearts.
In the ancient world, to refer to the heart meant so much more than the emotional seat of our being. While it includes this connotation, it also includes our thoughts, our hopes, our purpose and indeed the whole of our interior life. Our heart is the seat of our faith. Seek the Lord where he may be found.
This is only half the story, though! He is in our hearts but also on our lips. Thus, the experience of God is not only internal, but external. It is at once personal and at the same time relational, for what is the purpose to speak but to share and to communicate. Then, there is the power of naming. What is in our hearts may seem ephemeral and unreal, but when we name our emotions, our thoughts, our fears, we can confront the fact that they are indeed real, and in naming them we can relate to the “thoughts of the hearts” of others around us, and journey together through out valleys and mountain peaks. While it is true that we must have our moments alone with God (and as I said last week, the moment of deciding to follow Christ in the moment of crisis is certainly one of those moments), our spirituality is never simply a private affair. Faith engages the whole person and faith engages the community as a body. We are called to name our faith and utter it aloud, and in doing so we claim its reality in our lives.
This leads us to a final assertion offered by Paul, namely, that our experience of God is to be shared with the world. What we have known and believed in our hearts is to be proclaimed on our lips. For as Paul says, “How are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard?” And this returns us to the point at which we began. Each of us seeks the proverbial “good life,” but so many people do not even know what they are looking for. They search high and low but they do not know the object of their search. They fill themselves with things that will only lead to their destruction. And ultimately, can they be condemned because they have never heard or understood or believed? Shall we hoard the “good news” of the “good life” selfishly in our hearts while others grope about in earnest but misguided hope? What if they were to learn that what they seek is indeed very near? What if they were to learn that the object was, in fact the subject? What if they were to learn that they are being sought be a loving God, whom to know is eternal life and to serve is perfect freedom? And what if we were to share this Good News?
We have tasted the Good Life in the Good News, because we have not had to traverse the heights or descend into the abyss to find him because he has found us in our heights and in our depths. Christ has traveled high and low for us that we might know him. Let us proclaim with our lips what we believe in our hearts that Christ has sought us out and found us so that the Good Life might be shared by one and all. How beautiful are the feet of are those who bring Good News!”
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, August 10th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 10:5-15
“The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.”
--Romans 10:8
Perhaps, at our best, human beings are seekers. We are always seeking after what we do not know or do not have. And seeking, at its best, is a noble endeavour. Indeed, in philosophy, the goal of human existence was to seek out the “good life.” The good life was not, of course, something that was good only for me, but good for the whole community and ultimately, for the whole human family. To seek after the good life was to seek after truth, beauty, justice, and wholeness. To place this philosophy firmly in a Christian context, seeking after such things is to seek God, for in God we find truth, beauty, justice, and wholeness. To this end, Jesus implores us to seek: “Ask, and it will be given you; search and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” Most importantly, he reminds us, “seek first the kingdom of God.” To seek is a godly thing and a Christian virtue.
Seeking can, of course, have its dark side. When the goal of our seeking is not the philosophical good life, when it is not the seeking after of the truth, beauty, justice and wholeness of God, our seeking can take a disastrous turn. When we become obsessed with seeking after our own glorification, or less maliciously, even our own betterment in a naïve disregard for the rest of our community and family, we run the risk of following the path that leads to a life that that while it may appear to be good in fleeting glances, is ultimately empty and without meaning or hope. St. Paul would surely add that seeking under our own power is likewise an exercise in futility and a path that leads not to a deepening of our relationship with God but to our estrangement from our Father and Creator.
It is to this end that St. Paul writes passionately in Romans chapter ten about a Christ who seeks us out and finds us that we might find him! Continuing his unwrapping of the concept of justification by faith he remarks that this justification (or righteousness) reminds us that we do not have to travel great lengths in our searching for Christ. He states, “Do not say in your heart, ‘Who will ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down) or, ‘Who will descend into the abyss?’ (that is to bring Christ up from the dead).” We do not need to go searching for Christ who has traversed both the heavens and the depths of hell; instead, we shall find him very near to us. For indeed, the whole point that Christ descended from the highest heights to the lowest depths and again ascended on high is that he might gather to himself the whole of creation; that he might draw each one of us to him and make us his own; that he might seek us out as we seek after the true purpose of our existence, the proverbial “good life” of God in Christ. Shall we then grope about high and low for him? Shall we assume that he is somewhere else and inaccessible to us? Shall we believe that it is only through another that we can find him?
By no means! For Paul goes on to say “The word is near you!” Quoting the author of Deuteronomy he states, “It is on your lips and in you heart!” And thus turns what was spoken about the Law into a truism about the Gospel. The word of life need not be sought out in far and distant places but as close as home, in my own very core and on my lips, if I have indeed believed in the one who has risen from the dead.
To Paul’s audience, “the word” certainly referred to the preaching of the gospel, that is the good news that God raised Jesus from the dead -- a marvelous act in which he has offered new life and salvation to all those who believe in him. And yet, as Christians with the benefit of having read the Gospel of John, as Christians with the benefit of the wisdom of the early Church Fathers, and with the benefit of the knowledge of the theological debates that led to the formulation of the Nicene Creed, we understand the meaning of “the word,” on a deeper level, namely that Christ is The Word of God, himself. He is The Word through which all was created and through which the whole cosmos is redeemed and reconciled to God. And so to say that the word is near you, on your lips and in your hearts is to say that, for Christian people, Jesus Christ is with us always, or in the words of St. Matthew, he is Emmanuel – God with us. Indeed, he is with us even unto the end of the age. That is why if we but seek, we shall indeed find, not by searching high and low, in the heavens or in the depths, but in the faith of our hearts.
In the ancient world, to refer to the heart meant so much more than the emotional seat of our being. While it includes this connotation, it also includes our thoughts, our hopes, our purpose and indeed the whole of our interior life. Our heart is the seat of our faith. Seek the Lord where he may be found.
This is only half the story, though! He is in our hearts but also on our lips. Thus, the experience of God is not only internal, but external. It is at once personal and at the same time relational, for what is the purpose to speak but to share and to communicate. Then, there is the power of naming. What is in our hearts may seem ephemeral and unreal, but when we name our emotions, our thoughts, our fears, we can confront the fact that they are indeed real, and in naming them we can relate to the “thoughts of the hearts” of others around us, and journey together through out valleys and mountain peaks. While it is true that we must have our moments alone with God (and as I said last week, the moment of deciding to follow Christ in the moment of crisis is certainly one of those moments), our spirituality is never simply a private affair. Faith engages the whole person and faith engages the community as a body. We are called to name our faith and utter it aloud, and in doing so we claim its reality in our lives.
This leads us to a final assertion offered by Paul, namely, that our experience of God is to be shared with the world. What we have known and believed in our hearts is to be proclaimed on our lips. For as Paul says, “How are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard?” And this returns us to the point at which we began. Each of us seeks the proverbial “good life,” but so many people do not even know what they are looking for. They search high and low but they do not know the object of their search. They fill themselves with things that will only lead to their destruction. And ultimately, can they be condemned because they have never heard or understood or believed? Shall we hoard the “good news” of the “good life” selfishly in our hearts while others grope about in earnest but misguided hope? What if they were to learn that what they seek is indeed very near? What if they were to learn that the object was, in fact the subject? What if they were to learn that they are being sought be a loving God, whom to know is eternal life and to serve is perfect freedom? And what if we were to share this Good News?
We have tasted the Good Life in the Good News, because we have not had to traverse the heights or descend into the abyss to find him because he has found us in our heights and in our depths. Christ has traveled high and low for us that we might know him. Let us proclaim with our lips what we believe in our hearts that Christ has sought us out and found us so that the Good Life might be shared by one and all. How beautiful are the feet of are those who bring Good News!”
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, August 3, 2008
The Moment of Decision
Homily for Proper 18
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 9:1-5
As Christian people, we speak frequently about the importance of community. In community we first learn the faith of our mothers and fathers; in community we are nurtured and grow to maturity in the faith; and in community we are upheld and supported through the various stages of our lives – times of joy and times of trouble. In community we share a common meal around a common table and celebrate our common life as we partake of the bread of life. So much of our life is lived in community.
But there is one area of our lives when the idea of community cascades out of sight, if only for a moment, and that moment is the moment of decision. We may make a decision with input from those around us, with advice from experts, or with the concern of loved ones in mind, but ultimately, we own our decision and make them fully on our own. To make a decision may be commonplace or it may be profound, but any decision is always fraught with unknown implications. Any decision involves risk, be it large or small. Thus, it is up to each one of us to make the decisions of our lives and claim the consequences of our decisions. Having made a decision we may then return to the life and fellowship of the community and seek its support and nurture, but the moment of decision remains a solitary moment in which all around us disappear momentarily from view and we stand alone with our consciences and with the risk of losing ourselves.
As Christian people, though, we are never really alone, for as we step apart from those around us to face our moment of truth, the silence of that eternal moment is penetrated by the presence of the eternal one made flesh in our midst. There is another who stands with us in that otherwise lonely moment, the invisible God, made visible in Jesus Christ.
There is much talk these days, not only in our own parish Church, but around this diocese in general, that Anglicans do not feel that they possess a “passionate spirituality.” The research tells us that Anglicans in this diocese, at least, do not feel the presence of God in their lives. There are any number of correctives suggested, from bible studies, to prayer groups, to focus groups, to spiritual direction and counseling, but I believe one thing if I believe anything, that while each of these are valuable tools, they count for nothing if, in the moments of decision, we fail to come face to face with our deepest fears, take the risk that we are going to lose ourselves, and plunge headlong into God’s loving care in Christ. Will our spiritual life grow and develop if we keep insisting that passionate spirituality is something that we can conjure up ourselves with hard work and persistent effort? I think not.
Ultimately faith is about one thing – confronting our human frailty, our human fallibility, and yes, our mortality and to realize that we are frail, fallible and mortal, and that God alone is strong, infallible and immortal. “Frail as summer’s flower we flourish blows the wind and it is gone, but while mortals rise and perish, God endures, unchanging on.” When we finally reach that moment when we confront our frailty and mortality it is a moment of crisis, because it means giving up believing in our own power to solve every problem and bind every wound of our lives. It means giving up believing that we shall live forever. It means taking a risk with the gift we are given, not selfishly clinging to this life but letting it go and offering it back up to God. And in that moment of crisis, to stand face to face with Christ our Lord and say all that I am and all that I have are yours O Lord, “All things come of thee, and of thine own have I given thee.”
This moment may indeed be the moment of our Christian conversion, but is certainly not limited to it. Any moment of crisis in our lives is the moment in which we are faced with a question and a decision: “Will I try to save myself from this moment or shall I plunge into the depths of Christ and allow Christ to be my life, my all?” My friends, if this, in each moment of challenge, each moment of trial, each moment of angst, is the decision we make then we will be confirmed again and again in our faith, and we shall live a life of great fulfillment, a life of great meaning, even in the midst of suffering, loss, and death.
Embracing our pain and calling upon the Lord in those solitary moments in which we seem so alone – this is the road to a passionate spirituality. There is no other.
St. Paul knew this only too well, for time and time again he turned to Christ when all might otherwise seem lost and when all around had abandoned him, relying only on His grace. And God’s grace is sufficient unto the day. Paul also knew that in spite of his best preaching, his most valiant efforts, his most persuasive rhetoric, that he was himself powerless to save another. The decision, to turn to Christ in our moment of despair, is left to each of us alone.
In today’s epistle Paul longs to sacrifice himself for his brothers and sisters who have not embraced Christ, who still labour under the Law, under the illusion that their human works and effort would lead them to God, under the illusion that if only they followed the right program they would find favour with God. Paul knew that it is only an encounter with Christ that will reveal God’s grace. Paul knew and understood that just as he could not labour for his own salvation, neither could he labour for another. He could only share the Good News. Paul knew that the role of the community was, and is, to stand alongside brothers and sisters as they journey through the moments of crisis in life, encouraging them, sharing the good news, helping them forward in Christ, as they meet the living God in their darkest moments.
And so my friends, those moments of crisis that inevitably come, are ultimately between each one of us and the Lord, in which we face the angst of our humanity. As you face the moments of despair in your life, the moments of sadness, the moments of regret, the moments of fear, the moments of anxiety, the moments of pain, turn to the Lord. Turn to Christ. Take the risk of letting go, take the risk of offering him the wheel. It is that very point of decision in which we meet the living God and ask him, “Who do you want me to be in the midst of this crisis, and who do you want me to be as the result of this crisis?” And we affirm, “Lord Jesus, you alone can take me there.” In these times, in the moment of crisis, Christ will indeed make the way known. Every mountain will be laid low, every deep valley exalted, and through the breaking mist of your dissipating loneliness you shall see a whole company of friends and witness present alongside you to share the journey of faith, the Church of God, all of us gathered here together, a passionate people, in Christian love.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This Sermon may not be reproduced or redistributed either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 9:1-5
As Christian people, we speak frequently about the importance of community. In community we first learn the faith of our mothers and fathers; in community we are nurtured and grow to maturity in the faith; and in community we are upheld and supported through the various stages of our lives – times of joy and times of trouble. In community we share a common meal around a common table and celebrate our common life as we partake of the bread of life. So much of our life is lived in community.
But there is one area of our lives when the idea of community cascades out of sight, if only for a moment, and that moment is the moment of decision. We may make a decision with input from those around us, with advice from experts, or with the concern of loved ones in mind, but ultimately, we own our decision and make them fully on our own. To make a decision may be commonplace or it may be profound, but any decision is always fraught with unknown implications. Any decision involves risk, be it large or small. Thus, it is up to each one of us to make the decisions of our lives and claim the consequences of our decisions. Having made a decision we may then return to the life and fellowship of the community and seek its support and nurture, but the moment of decision remains a solitary moment in which all around us disappear momentarily from view and we stand alone with our consciences and with the risk of losing ourselves.
As Christian people, though, we are never really alone, for as we step apart from those around us to face our moment of truth, the silence of that eternal moment is penetrated by the presence of the eternal one made flesh in our midst. There is another who stands with us in that otherwise lonely moment, the invisible God, made visible in Jesus Christ.
There is much talk these days, not only in our own parish Church, but around this diocese in general, that Anglicans do not feel that they possess a “passionate spirituality.” The research tells us that Anglicans in this diocese, at least, do not feel the presence of God in their lives. There are any number of correctives suggested, from bible studies, to prayer groups, to focus groups, to spiritual direction and counseling, but I believe one thing if I believe anything, that while each of these are valuable tools, they count for nothing if, in the moments of decision, we fail to come face to face with our deepest fears, take the risk that we are going to lose ourselves, and plunge headlong into God’s loving care in Christ. Will our spiritual life grow and develop if we keep insisting that passionate spirituality is something that we can conjure up ourselves with hard work and persistent effort? I think not.
Ultimately faith is about one thing – confronting our human frailty, our human fallibility, and yes, our mortality and to realize that we are frail, fallible and mortal, and that God alone is strong, infallible and immortal. “Frail as summer’s flower we flourish blows the wind and it is gone, but while mortals rise and perish, God endures, unchanging on.” When we finally reach that moment when we confront our frailty and mortality it is a moment of crisis, because it means giving up believing in our own power to solve every problem and bind every wound of our lives. It means giving up believing that we shall live forever. It means taking a risk with the gift we are given, not selfishly clinging to this life but letting it go and offering it back up to God. And in that moment of crisis, to stand face to face with Christ our Lord and say all that I am and all that I have are yours O Lord, “All things come of thee, and of thine own have I given thee.”
This moment may indeed be the moment of our Christian conversion, but is certainly not limited to it. Any moment of crisis in our lives is the moment in which we are faced with a question and a decision: “Will I try to save myself from this moment or shall I plunge into the depths of Christ and allow Christ to be my life, my all?” My friends, if this, in each moment of challenge, each moment of trial, each moment of angst, is the decision we make then we will be confirmed again and again in our faith, and we shall live a life of great fulfillment, a life of great meaning, even in the midst of suffering, loss, and death.
Embracing our pain and calling upon the Lord in those solitary moments in which we seem so alone – this is the road to a passionate spirituality. There is no other.
St. Paul knew this only too well, for time and time again he turned to Christ when all might otherwise seem lost and when all around had abandoned him, relying only on His grace. And God’s grace is sufficient unto the day. Paul also knew that in spite of his best preaching, his most valiant efforts, his most persuasive rhetoric, that he was himself powerless to save another. The decision, to turn to Christ in our moment of despair, is left to each of us alone.
In today’s epistle Paul longs to sacrifice himself for his brothers and sisters who have not embraced Christ, who still labour under the Law, under the illusion that their human works and effort would lead them to God, under the illusion that if only they followed the right program they would find favour with God. Paul knew that it is only an encounter with Christ that will reveal God’s grace. Paul knew and understood that just as he could not labour for his own salvation, neither could he labour for another. He could only share the Good News. Paul knew that the role of the community was, and is, to stand alongside brothers and sisters as they journey through the moments of crisis in life, encouraging them, sharing the good news, helping them forward in Christ, as they meet the living God in their darkest moments.
And so my friends, those moments of crisis that inevitably come, are ultimately between each one of us and the Lord, in which we face the angst of our humanity. As you face the moments of despair in your life, the moments of sadness, the moments of regret, the moments of fear, the moments of anxiety, the moments of pain, turn to the Lord. Turn to Christ. Take the risk of letting go, take the risk of offering him the wheel. It is that very point of decision in which we meet the living God and ask him, “Who do you want me to be in the midst of this crisis, and who do you want me to be as the result of this crisis?” And we affirm, “Lord Jesus, you alone can take me there.” In these times, in the moment of crisis, Christ will indeed make the way known. Every mountain will be laid low, every deep valley exalted, and through the breaking mist of your dissipating loneliness you shall see a whole company of friends and witness present alongside you to share the journey of faith, the Church of God, all of us gathered here together, a passionate people, in Christian love.
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This Sermon may not be reproduced or redistributed either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Alive to God
Homily for Proper 12, Year A
Sunday, June 22nd, 2008
Preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Reverend Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 6:1b-11
In my homily, last week, I noted that it is often in the crisis moments of our lives that we meet God. And while it is surely true that for many of us our relationship with God has been a loving encounter that has stretched gently through the many years of our lives, it is also true that, like any long-term relationship, its growth is often punctuated by moments of crisis. To some extent, all crises by which we are confronted are rooted in fear. Most fear is really the fear of loss – losing our loved ones, losing a way of life, losing a relationship, losing ourselves. And at the heart of our fear of loss, we encounter our deepest fear: The fear of death. All loss is, in some way or another, a death in our lives. Death is something that, as human beings, we all inevitably share in. Thus, every little death in our lives touches, in some way, that deeper death to be faced by us all, sooner or later. This is why the losses faced by others around us may be so poignant to each of us; the fear felt by another might be so easily understood and shared, and the death even of a stranger touches us profoundly.
This fear of loss and fear of death reaches across the centuries and as such, we can certainly understand what the people of Rome, to whom St. Paul wrote, felt about death. They were just as afraid of death as you and me. They had heard of the wonderful news of new life in Christ Jesus, but some had clearly not understood what this meant. Someone posed the following question: If God’s grace is offered to us because we are sinners, should we not continue to sin in order that grace may abound? One wonders if this was even a serious question at all, or one simply posed to demonstrate the absurdity of the concept of God’s free grace in Christ. Be that as it may, I wonder if what they really feared was reckoning with their own angst about their own human finality. The message of God’s grace is a message that offers hope not only for this life, but also for the next. But when we begin to consider the ramifications of God in our lives, we are necessarily led to consider the impact of risk and fear and loss. And ultimately, we must consider the reality of our own death. I suggest that the critique of the gospel to which St. Paul is responding is a critique that seeks to make light not only of the gospel, but to also make light of the human angst we all share. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.
When confronted with life and death we have two choices. The first is seek to cling to life, by ignoring the reality of death. It is not a clinging to life because life is something wonderful, but a clinging to life because we are afraid of what it means to lose our life. It is to choose a life filled with extraneous distractions; things that distract us from the reality of death; that instill in us the false hope death will somehow miss us and pass us by because we are hidden by the clutter of all the wonderful distractions that fill our lives. However, we have another way; we can make another choice. We can choose to face the reality of our own death and in spite of it, in the shadow of it, and because of it, choose life. At funerals, we often focus on the words of the psalmist, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” but we must never forget the companion verse: “I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.” Death remains a reality for each of us, but as Christian people, we choose to believe that it means something very different than the passing away and destruction of all that is good in life.
St. Paul reminds the Romans that all who are baptized into Christ Jesus have been baptized into his death. But I would suggest that baptism is not as much about our participation in Christ’s death, but God’s participation in our death. For in Christ God takes our human frailty, our human finality, and makes it his own; and in doing so conquers and destroys it. Death no more has dominion over him – the death he died, he died to sin once for all. Likewise, reckon ye also yourselves dead to sin and alive to God, in Christ Jesus. Death no longer has dominion over us.
In Baptism we have changed masters, we are no longer enslaved either to sin or to death. By being released from death as our master, we are also released from sin -- for is it not the fear of death that leads us into such selfish ways in which we cling to life not because it is beautiful but because we are selfishly afraid to imagine a world in which we do not exist? But in staring death in the face, Christ uses death to destroy death and vanquish its claim to victory. In this victory we walk in newness of life.
One of St. Paul’s favourite ways of describing a Christian is by using the phrase “in Christ.” You are “in Christ.” That is, we participate in his triumph over death, we walk in newness of life.
What does newness of life mean to us? In the academic discussion of Paul’s letters there is a debate that rages (is this not always the case when studying Paul?). The question is this: Is “newness of life” about a future hope or present reality. In academic terms we speak of the future or realized eschatology, i.e., is Paul’s theology of new life about a reality that God will one day bring about, or a new reality in which we are now participating. There are many passages in Paul that can be corralled to support either claim, but I would suggest that neither claim needs to be exclusive, and in fact are not polarities to be contrasted but should be considered complementary claims. On one level, Paul speaks about our death in the past tense and our new life in the future tense: “If we have died with him, we shall live with him.” This places us somewhere “between the times.” It suggests that our hope for new life is a future hope. And indeed it is. This is what allows us to believe that although these mortal bodies turn to dust, death is not the final story for any of us, but the door to new life. Although death has been defeated, we know that it only exists as the ending of this part of our journey and as the doorway to a yet more glorious journey. We have a future hope, and as Paul said in chapter 5 of Romans, hope does not disappoint.
However, Paul also says that through our death to sin that we are alive to God in Christ. Thus, as we have “put on Christ” in our baptism, we have also put on new life in the present age. In addition to the claim of future life, Paul makes the claim for new life in the here and now. In fact, he makes the claim that in our baptism we have already died. We have died to hopelessness, we have died to captivity, we have died to sin, we have died to separation from God, and now, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Although we continue to face the reality of the death of this mortal body, the words of Job ring true to us: “In my flesh I shall see God.” For while it is true that God calls us home after our earthly pilgrimage is done, we are not left comfortless in these latter days. God walks with us in Christ through the power of the Spirit throughout this earthly pilgrimage.
No matter the crisis that confronts us, no matter the fear that threatens to overtake us, no matter that our bodies shall one day give out, death is not our final story, nor is it or can it ever be our master. To be sure, we will continue to have our moments of doubt and fear. My own moments of angst often come in the darkness of the night, when the darkness threatens to overcome the light. I sometimes wonder if my passing out of this world will indeed be followed by my passage into another, or resurrection on some final day. Yet, sleeps encroaches and I find that I must finally submit to it. The next thing I know, the dawn has arrived and my fear has subsided. In the light of day I find hope not only for the future but also in the present moment. In the light of the day, I find abundant life, not only as something that will blossom when the harvest comes to fruition but also in the unfolding and flowering of my life in the present. It is in these moments in the light that I find the strength to face the darkness that will inevitably come again, and the courage to believe that the darkness always gives way to light. I come to recognize what St. Paul means when he says that we are “alive to God.” From our experience of being alive to God we begin to learn to believe that even when it seems like death has won the day, we can continue to believe that, even in the face of death, the promise of new life endures and is our reality.
Whether it be the experience of new life in the midst of the changes and chances of this fleeting world, or whether it be our hope for life beyond the grave, as Christian people we are convinced of one thing, that death no longer has dominion over us. In both the gentle unfolding of our lives, and also when faced with a litany of faith-challenging crises, we take comfort in the fact that we have chosen life, and indeed that life itself, in the person of Christ Jesus, has chosen us. Let us go forward then, eagerly to meet him in the midst of the worst the world can throw at us, because in those moments of walking through the valley of the shadow of death, when fear threatens to overcome us, we shall fear no evil; in the moments when we seem most alone we shall remember that, “thou art with me”; and when we come face to face with the reality of death in our lives, we shall remember that death has been swallowed up in victory and we shall believe that goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our life, a life that is lived not only in the present, but eternally, in the heart of a loving God.
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, June 22nd, 2008
Preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Reverend Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 6:1b-11
In my homily, last week, I noted that it is often in the crisis moments of our lives that we meet God. And while it is surely true that for many of us our relationship with God has been a loving encounter that has stretched gently through the many years of our lives, it is also true that, like any long-term relationship, its growth is often punctuated by moments of crisis. To some extent, all crises by which we are confronted are rooted in fear. Most fear is really the fear of loss – losing our loved ones, losing a way of life, losing a relationship, losing ourselves. And at the heart of our fear of loss, we encounter our deepest fear: The fear of death. All loss is, in some way or another, a death in our lives. Death is something that, as human beings, we all inevitably share in. Thus, every little death in our lives touches, in some way, that deeper death to be faced by us all, sooner or later. This is why the losses faced by others around us may be so poignant to each of us; the fear felt by another might be so easily understood and shared, and the death even of a stranger touches us profoundly.
This fear of loss and fear of death reaches across the centuries and as such, we can certainly understand what the people of Rome, to whom St. Paul wrote, felt about death. They were just as afraid of death as you and me. They had heard of the wonderful news of new life in Christ Jesus, but some had clearly not understood what this meant. Someone posed the following question: If God’s grace is offered to us because we are sinners, should we not continue to sin in order that grace may abound? One wonders if this was even a serious question at all, or one simply posed to demonstrate the absurdity of the concept of God’s free grace in Christ. Be that as it may, I wonder if what they really feared was reckoning with their own angst about their own human finality. The message of God’s grace is a message that offers hope not only for this life, but also for the next. But when we begin to consider the ramifications of God in our lives, we are necessarily led to consider the impact of risk and fear and loss. And ultimately, we must consider the reality of our own death. I suggest that the critique of the gospel to which St. Paul is responding is a critique that seeks to make light not only of the gospel, but to also make light of the human angst we all share. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.
When confronted with life and death we have two choices. The first is seek to cling to life, by ignoring the reality of death. It is not a clinging to life because life is something wonderful, but a clinging to life because we are afraid of what it means to lose our life. It is to choose a life filled with extraneous distractions; things that distract us from the reality of death; that instill in us the false hope death will somehow miss us and pass us by because we are hidden by the clutter of all the wonderful distractions that fill our lives. However, we have another way; we can make another choice. We can choose to face the reality of our own death and in spite of it, in the shadow of it, and because of it, choose life. At funerals, we often focus on the words of the psalmist, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” but we must never forget the companion verse: “I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.” Death remains a reality for each of us, but as Christian people, we choose to believe that it means something very different than the passing away and destruction of all that is good in life.
St. Paul reminds the Romans that all who are baptized into Christ Jesus have been baptized into his death. But I would suggest that baptism is not as much about our participation in Christ’s death, but God’s participation in our death. For in Christ God takes our human frailty, our human finality, and makes it his own; and in doing so conquers and destroys it. Death no more has dominion over him – the death he died, he died to sin once for all. Likewise, reckon ye also yourselves dead to sin and alive to God, in Christ Jesus. Death no longer has dominion over us.
In Baptism we have changed masters, we are no longer enslaved either to sin or to death. By being released from death as our master, we are also released from sin -- for is it not the fear of death that leads us into such selfish ways in which we cling to life not because it is beautiful but because we are selfishly afraid to imagine a world in which we do not exist? But in staring death in the face, Christ uses death to destroy death and vanquish its claim to victory. In this victory we walk in newness of life.
One of St. Paul’s favourite ways of describing a Christian is by using the phrase “in Christ.” You are “in Christ.” That is, we participate in his triumph over death, we walk in newness of life.
What does newness of life mean to us? In the academic discussion of Paul’s letters there is a debate that rages (is this not always the case when studying Paul?). The question is this: Is “newness of life” about a future hope or present reality. In academic terms we speak of the future or realized eschatology, i.e., is Paul’s theology of new life about a reality that God will one day bring about, or a new reality in which we are now participating. There are many passages in Paul that can be corralled to support either claim, but I would suggest that neither claim needs to be exclusive, and in fact are not polarities to be contrasted but should be considered complementary claims. On one level, Paul speaks about our death in the past tense and our new life in the future tense: “If we have died with him, we shall live with him.” This places us somewhere “between the times.” It suggests that our hope for new life is a future hope. And indeed it is. This is what allows us to believe that although these mortal bodies turn to dust, death is not the final story for any of us, but the door to new life. Although death has been defeated, we know that it only exists as the ending of this part of our journey and as the doorway to a yet more glorious journey. We have a future hope, and as Paul said in chapter 5 of Romans, hope does not disappoint.
However, Paul also says that through our death to sin that we are alive to God in Christ. Thus, as we have “put on Christ” in our baptism, we have also put on new life in the present age. In addition to the claim of future life, Paul makes the claim for new life in the here and now. In fact, he makes the claim that in our baptism we have already died. We have died to hopelessness, we have died to captivity, we have died to sin, we have died to separation from God, and now, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Although we continue to face the reality of the death of this mortal body, the words of Job ring true to us: “In my flesh I shall see God.” For while it is true that God calls us home after our earthly pilgrimage is done, we are not left comfortless in these latter days. God walks with us in Christ through the power of the Spirit throughout this earthly pilgrimage.
No matter the crisis that confronts us, no matter the fear that threatens to overtake us, no matter that our bodies shall one day give out, death is not our final story, nor is it or can it ever be our master. To be sure, we will continue to have our moments of doubt and fear. My own moments of angst often come in the darkness of the night, when the darkness threatens to overcome the light. I sometimes wonder if my passing out of this world will indeed be followed by my passage into another, or resurrection on some final day. Yet, sleeps encroaches and I find that I must finally submit to it. The next thing I know, the dawn has arrived and my fear has subsided. In the light of day I find hope not only for the future but also in the present moment. In the light of the day, I find abundant life, not only as something that will blossom when the harvest comes to fruition but also in the unfolding and flowering of my life in the present. It is in these moments in the light that I find the strength to face the darkness that will inevitably come again, and the courage to believe that the darkness always gives way to light. I come to recognize what St. Paul means when he says that we are “alive to God.” From our experience of being alive to God we begin to learn to believe that even when it seems like death has won the day, we can continue to believe that, even in the face of death, the promise of new life endures and is our reality.
Whether it be the experience of new life in the midst of the changes and chances of this fleeting world, or whether it be our hope for life beyond the grave, as Christian people we are convinced of one thing, that death no longer has dominion over us. In both the gentle unfolding of our lives, and also when faced with a litany of faith-challenging crises, we take comfort in the fact that we have chosen life, and indeed that life itself, in the person of Christ Jesus, has chosen us. Let us go forward then, eagerly to meet him in the midst of the worst the world can throw at us, because in those moments of walking through the valley of the shadow of death, when fear threatens to overcome us, we shall fear no evil; in the moments when we seem most alone we shall remember that, “thou art with me”; and when we come face to face with the reality of death in our lives, we shall remember that death has been swallowed up in victory and we shall believe that goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our life, a life that is lived not only in the present, but eternally, in the heart of a loving God.
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.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Can We Boast Without Shame?
Homily for Proper 11, Year A
Sunday, June 15th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 5:1-8
St. Paul writes, “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.” Well, I do not know about you, but in my world, boasting is not something to be encouraged – and certainly not to be encouraged as a Christian virtue! I have always understood boasting as something selfish and conceited. At a slightly deeper level, if I boast about what I have, the boast is, in effect, a put-down of another: I have something you do not have, and therefore I am better than you and you should be ashamed or feel unworthy. I suppose it does not help that we are Canadians. Do we not pride ourselves in being unlike our boastful neighbours? Do we not overcompensate and over-apologize for any little offense that we might perpetrate; or even apologize for things that we have not done, lest it seem that we are to pig-headed? Furthermore, as Christian people we are to be filled with loving charity, giving of ourselves, doing without, being like Jesus, suffering for the sake of others. The last thing that we should do either as Canadians or as Christians is boast.
And yet, here, in this most crucial letter of the Pauline corpus, Paul affirms boasting, of a sort, as a Christian virtue. What are we to make of this? To me, this is one of those uncomfortable passages in Paul’s letters that is perhaps most easily passed over and left for another day. I suggest, though, that the difficulty of a passage must not dissuade us from considering how it might speak to us in the deepening of our Christian walk. I suppose, when it comes right down to it, I find this passage difficult because I know that my own ego is perhaps, slightly oversized. I know that I have a tendency to boast when, perhaps, I should instead be walking in humilty. I suspect that I am not alone in this although I cannot speak for others. So, when Paul speaks of boasting as a Christian virtue many of us feel a bit squeamish, because our own sin, and propensity to sin, is ever before us.
What is it, though, that Paul instructs us to boast about? It is this: “Our hope of sharing the glory of God.” This hope is rooted in our own justification by faith, our own peace with God through that justification, and indeed our access to God’s grace.
Before I continue, I would like to make a short digression and speak about justification by faith. This is a term that has been bandied about by theologians for hundreds of years. There is still much disagreement about what is meant by the term. Justification is what we call a legal-forensic term, with its etymological roots in the Latin translation of the Greek word for righteousness. A literal, and more correct (if grammatically dubious) translation of “justified”, might best be understood by transforming the noun “righteous” into a verbal passive form, “to be righteoused.” The controversy around this phrase concerns how we understand what to be “righteoused” or “justified” means. One understanding involves a permanent change in status of the person justified, a change of nature once and for all. In this understanding, a person takes on a permanent new identity through the sacrifice of Christ. Another understanding involves a wiping clean of the past, a clean slate, a tabla rasa, but with the possibility of going off track again. The past has been wiped clean, but the future is remains open. Furthermore, the degree to which a person continues to rely solely on grace or participate through post-justification "works" in the post-justification state continues to be a matter of theological disagreement and discussion. We cannot resolve these debates here, I only raise then to demonstrate that while Christians may agree on a doctrine of justification by faith, they may indeed have quite different understandings of what it means. Similarly, we might ask the origin of the faith through which we are justified. For some it is a faith we stir up ourselves when we realize we are unable to do right without God; it is a decision we make in the face of our realization that we have no power in and of ourselves to be righteous. We realize that only God makes us righteous and that stirring of faith leads imputes righteousness. Others will suggest that while that realization may be the catalyst to faith, faith comes not from ourselves but as a gift from God, which we appropriate both when we are confronted by crisis and also in the gentle unfolding revelation of God in the midst of our lives. I must confess that I fall into this latter group. All of this is to say that I take faith to be a gift from God. As we begin to receive that gift we begin to realize that God has opened to us the way of new life.
So what does this digression on justification have to do with boasting? Namely this: That the hope in which St. Paul boasts is a hope rooted in a faith imparted by God in Christ, through God’s grace, for a peace offered by the same loving God in Christ. We have access to this God in and through the self-offering of Christ in the Incarnation, Crucifixion and Resurrection. Put simply, we have cause to boast because we have received a most wonderful gift, reconciliation with a loving God and with each other. The gift is freely given and loving received. It is not of our own making but is divine and precious.
However, boasting still has its dark side, and St. Paul knows this better than anyone. We boast not in and of ourselves, or for ourselves but in, of, and for Christ. And we must always remember that our Lord and Christ is the one whose throne is a cross and who is a king who wore a crown of thorns. To boast in Christ we must always remember that the way of Christ is indeed a way of self-offering and self-denial. Boasting is not for self-glorification or the deprecation of others, but a confession of God’s gracious self-offering that transforms all creation. Boasting in Christ means claiming both the Cross and the Resurrection as our cause for boasting.
That wonderful Christian hymn, Lift High the Cross has this most poignant line: “Great is the cost of walking on this road, to follow and suffer with the Son of God.” I do not for a moment believe that suffering is a condition of our Christian faith nor is suffering sent by God to test us. Yet, I think suffering is a condition of our humanity. Each of us will, without fail, suffer in some way along our earthly pilgrimage. For some it will be physical suffering of the worst kind. For other there will be psychological suffering, emotional suffering, or spiritual suffering. One thing I find in common amongst those I meet who suffer is a propensity to utter such a phrase as this: “At least I’m glad don’t have it as bad as that other person over there…” While this sentiment can be a helpful coping mechanism, it is ultimately a symptom of a denial of our human condition, and illustrates what Rabbi Harold Kushner (author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People) calls the “suffering Olympics.” Yes, there will always be someone who has it worse than you, but what does that really matter. Your pain is real, your hurt is authentic, your struggle feels impossible to manage. What good is it to compare and be self-effacing about it. In a way, this propensity to compare our suffering with that of another is kind of boasting in which we lie to ourselves – as we attempt to minimize the reality of our suffering we implicitly claim to be better and more able to cope with our suffering that what we actually are. This is not the sort of boasting encourage by the Apostle.
I have said before that I take myself to be a Christian Existentialist. I believe very passionately that our life of faith comes about, develops and matures as the result of meeting God in the midst of human crisis. If we deny our suffering, if we reject it, if we allow the cup to pass, then we also risk missing the encounter with a Lord who meets us in our suffering. We risk meeting a Lord who makes our suffering one with his suffering and offers his Resurrection as our resurrection. Again, we do not believe that suffering is a visitation from God, but in our suffering we may certainly be visited by the one knows our pain and shares our wounds. Thus, St. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, but it is not our endurance, but God’s endurance when we have not the strength to endure. Endurance produces character; and again, it is not our character but the indelible character of Christ imprinted on us. Character produces hope -- hope not only for our deliverance from affliction, strife and need, but hope for the whole human family; for all our brothers and sisters who despondency threatens to overcome. And hope does not disappoint us. God is faithful to the last.
Thus, to boast in our justification, in the grace we have received, in our access to God, is not to boast in our own righteousness, our own access to God, our own peace, but to proclaim the righteousness of God to a hurting world, to those who suffer indignity and unjust oppression. To boast in our access to God is not boast in our relationship with God but to proclaim to the lonely and brokenhearted that God calls them, journeys with them, loves them beyond measure and will never leave them. To boast in the peace of God is not claim that we are a people without conflict or division, but to proclaim to a world torn apart by conflict, strife and division, that God reconciles us to each other when all hope for peace seems lost. To boast in hope is not to assert that we have a salvation from God that others do not, but to proclaim to any who walk without hope, to any who have lost their faith either in God or their fellow human beings, that in Christ all things are being made new with each new rising of the sun.
To boast in Christ is not an act of self-aggrandizement, nor is it a deprecation of the faith of others. It is the simple claim that we have met a Lord who loves us even in our darkest hour, who sharing in our suffering leads us forth to a yet more glorious day. It is the proclamation that again and again, he comes to us, and takes our hand, from one age to the next, loving us, helping us, leading us, transforming us, when we cannot help ourselves. It is the proclamation that this word of hope is hope for the whole world. And finally, it is a word of hope in whiche we can boast . It is a word of hope tht we can share with the world, without shame and without reservation.
Text c. 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, June 15th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 5:1-8
St. Paul writes, “Since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.” Well, I do not know about you, but in my world, boasting is not something to be encouraged – and certainly not to be encouraged as a Christian virtue! I have always understood boasting as something selfish and conceited. At a slightly deeper level, if I boast about what I have, the boast is, in effect, a put-down of another: I have something you do not have, and therefore I am better than you and you should be ashamed or feel unworthy. I suppose it does not help that we are Canadians. Do we not pride ourselves in being unlike our boastful neighbours? Do we not overcompensate and over-apologize for any little offense that we might perpetrate; or even apologize for things that we have not done, lest it seem that we are to pig-headed? Furthermore, as Christian people we are to be filled with loving charity, giving of ourselves, doing without, being like Jesus, suffering for the sake of others. The last thing that we should do either as Canadians or as Christians is boast.
And yet, here, in this most crucial letter of the Pauline corpus, Paul affirms boasting, of a sort, as a Christian virtue. What are we to make of this? To me, this is one of those uncomfortable passages in Paul’s letters that is perhaps most easily passed over and left for another day. I suggest, though, that the difficulty of a passage must not dissuade us from considering how it might speak to us in the deepening of our Christian walk. I suppose, when it comes right down to it, I find this passage difficult because I know that my own ego is perhaps, slightly oversized. I know that I have a tendency to boast when, perhaps, I should instead be walking in humilty. I suspect that I am not alone in this although I cannot speak for others. So, when Paul speaks of boasting as a Christian virtue many of us feel a bit squeamish, because our own sin, and propensity to sin, is ever before us.
What is it, though, that Paul instructs us to boast about? It is this: “Our hope of sharing the glory of God.” This hope is rooted in our own justification by faith, our own peace with God through that justification, and indeed our access to God’s grace.
Before I continue, I would like to make a short digression and speak about justification by faith. This is a term that has been bandied about by theologians for hundreds of years. There is still much disagreement about what is meant by the term. Justification is what we call a legal-forensic term, with its etymological roots in the Latin translation of the Greek word for righteousness. A literal, and more correct (if grammatically dubious) translation of “justified”, might best be understood by transforming the noun “righteous” into a verbal passive form, “to be righteoused.” The controversy around this phrase concerns how we understand what to be “righteoused” or “justified” means. One understanding involves a permanent change in status of the person justified, a change of nature once and for all. In this understanding, a person takes on a permanent new identity through the sacrifice of Christ. Another understanding involves a wiping clean of the past, a clean slate, a tabla rasa, but with the possibility of going off track again. The past has been wiped clean, but the future is remains open. Furthermore, the degree to which a person continues to rely solely on grace or participate through post-justification "works" in the post-justification state continues to be a matter of theological disagreement and discussion. We cannot resolve these debates here, I only raise then to demonstrate that while Christians may agree on a doctrine of justification by faith, they may indeed have quite different understandings of what it means. Similarly, we might ask the origin of the faith through which we are justified. For some it is a faith we stir up ourselves when we realize we are unable to do right without God; it is a decision we make in the face of our realization that we have no power in and of ourselves to be righteous. We realize that only God makes us righteous and that stirring of faith leads imputes righteousness. Others will suggest that while that realization may be the catalyst to faith, faith comes not from ourselves but as a gift from God, which we appropriate both when we are confronted by crisis and also in the gentle unfolding revelation of God in the midst of our lives. I must confess that I fall into this latter group. All of this is to say that I take faith to be a gift from God. As we begin to receive that gift we begin to realize that God has opened to us the way of new life.
So what does this digression on justification have to do with boasting? Namely this: That the hope in which St. Paul boasts is a hope rooted in a faith imparted by God in Christ, through God’s grace, for a peace offered by the same loving God in Christ. We have access to this God in and through the self-offering of Christ in the Incarnation, Crucifixion and Resurrection. Put simply, we have cause to boast because we have received a most wonderful gift, reconciliation with a loving God and with each other. The gift is freely given and loving received. It is not of our own making but is divine and precious.
However, boasting still has its dark side, and St. Paul knows this better than anyone. We boast not in and of ourselves, or for ourselves but in, of, and for Christ. And we must always remember that our Lord and Christ is the one whose throne is a cross and who is a king who wore a crown of thorns. To boast in Christ we must always remember that the way of Christ is indeed a way of self-offering and self-denial. Boasting is not for self-glorification or the deprecation of others, but a confession of God’s gracious self-offering that transforms all creation. Boasting in Christ means claiming both the Cross and the Resurrection as our cause for boasting.
That wonderful Christian hymn, Lift High the Cross has this most poignant line: “Great is the cost of walking on this road, to follow and suffer with the Son of God.” I do not for a moment believe that suffering is a condition of our Christian faith nor is suffering sent by God to test us. Yet, I think suffering is a condition of our humanity. Each of us will, without fail, suffer in some way along our earthly pilgrimage. For some it will be physical suffering of the worst kind. For other there will be psychological suffering, emotional suffering, or spiritual suffering. One thing I find in common amongst those I meet who suffer is a propensity to utter such a phrase as this: “At least I’m glad don’t have it as bad as that other person over there…” While this sentiment can be a helpful coping mechanism, it is ultimately a symptom of a denial of our human condition, and illustrates what Rabbi Harold Kushner (author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People) calls the “suffering Olympics.” Yes, there will always be someone who has it worse than you, but what does that really matter. Your pain is real, your hurt is authentic, your struggle feels impossible to manage. What good is it to compare and be self-effacing about it. In a way, this propensity to compare our suffering with that of another is kind of boasting in which we lie to ourselves – as we attempt to minimize the reality of our suffering we implicitly claim to be better and more able to cope with our suffering that what we actually are. This is not the sort of boasting encourage by the Apostle.
I have said before that I take myself to be a Christian Existentialist. I believe very passionately that our life of faith comes about, develops and matures as the result of meeting God in the midst of human crisis. If we deny our suffering, if we reject it, if we allow the cup to pass, then we also risk missing the encounter with a Lord who meets us in our suffering. We risk meeting a Lord who makes our suffering one with his suffering and offers his Resurrection as our resurrection. Again, we do not believe that suffering is a visitation from God, but in our suffering we may certainly be visited by the one knows our pain and shares our wounds. Thus, St. Paul says that suffering produces endurance, but it is not our endurance, but God’s endurance when we have not the strength to endure. Endurance produces character; and again, it is not our character but the indelible character of Christ imprinted on us. Character produces hope -- hope not only for our deliverance from affliction, strife and need, but hope for the whole human family; for all our brothers and sisters who despondency threatens to overcome. And hope does not disappoint us. God is faithful to the last.
Thus, to boast in our justification, in the grace we have received, in our access to God, is not to boast in our own righteousness, our own access to God, our own peace, but to proclaim the righteousness of God to a hurting world, to those who suffer indignity and unjust oppression. To boast in our access to God is not boast in our relationship with God but to proclaim to the lonely and brokenhearted that God calls them, journeys with them, loves them beyond measure and will never leave them. To boast in the peace of God is not claim that we are a people without conflict or division, but to proclaim to a world torn apart by conflict, strife and division, that God reconciles us to each other when all hope for peace seems lost. To boast in hope is not to assert that we have a salvation from God that others do not, but to proclaim to any who walk without hope, to any who have lost their faith either in God or their fellow human beings, that in Christ all things are being made new with each new rising of the sun.
To boast in Christ is not an act of self-aggrandizement, nor is it a deprecation of the faith of others. It is the simple claim that we have met a Lord who loves us even in our darkest hour, who sharing in our suffering leads us forth to a yet more glorious day. It is the proclamation that again and again, he comes to us, and takes our hand, from one age to the next, loving us, helping us, leading us, transforming us, when we cannot help ourselves. It is the proclamation that this word of hope is hope for the whole world. And finally, it is a word of hope in whiche we can boast . It is a word of hope tht we can share with the world, without shame and without reservation.
Text c. 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.
Friday, May 30, 2008
I Am Not Ashamed of the Gospel
Homily for Proper 9, Year A
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 1:16-17
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith.
--Romans 1:16
There may be many things about which we are ashamed. One only needs to probe beneath the surface of our lives to realize that there are some things that we have done that we would rather not share with others. There are different levels of shame. For example, it has been a number of years since I allowed my time as the manager of a Dairy Queen store to drop off my resume. While managing a Dairy is nothing to be ashamed of, I’d rather just keep it to myself. Why do I not wish to share this fact with a prospective employer? Of what am I ashamed? On a somewhat deeper level, I rarely tell people that I dropped out of Art College at age nineteen because I simply wasn’t good enough and didn’t have the personal discipline to cut it as a professional artist. I suppose that nearly twenty years later I still carry some shame and embarrassment about this failure. And I certainly know that there were times when I worked in a management position at the Anglican Book Centre that I made and was involved in decisions that I would certainly not make again. Of these I can say that I carry regret and yes, some shame.
Each of us will harbour feelings of guilt and shame over things done and left undone, over associations with people we have known, groups with which we have been affiliated, places we have worked. Yes, there will be mistakes in our lives about which we are ashamed, regretful and sorry. To make mistakes is part of being human. Similarly, to grow beyond childish things is also very human. We remain, though, the sum of our parts, and to some extent the shames and regrets of our past always remain a glimpse away in the rear-view mirrors of our lives.
But there is something about which I am not ashamed, and there is something about which none of us should be ashamed, and that is the Gospel of Christ. As Christian people we stand alongside St. Paul in this confession of faith. And might I say it is one of the earliest Christian proclamations of faith. I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith. I am not ashamed because when I look back on the things in my own life that I would rather keep to myself I know and understand that under my own power it is so easy to take a wrong turn, make a bad choice. I understand that under my own power I really have no ability make the right choices for my life. I understand that when I have thought thus, my choices have been less than exemplary and that when pressed to share them with others, I would rather keep them to myself.
Next week Canon Greg and I will be away on a clergy conference. The topic is Passionate Spirituality: From Beleaguered to Beloved. One of the activities in which we will be participating will be a small group time in which we are supposed to share with other clergy a moment in which we have felt beleaguered in ministry. I can tell you that there are many of us who feel a great reluctance to participate in this kind of sharing. I know that I will be careful about what I want to share. And I must ask myself why. In addition to worrying about the judgment of our peers, I think that it is because in our beleaguered moments we believe that we are alone, that we are operating under our own power, and as such when we fail we will necessarily feel that the world has come crashing down and that we are to be deeply ashamed of the darkness in which we find ourselves. But what if we were to believe that even in that loneliest place, to our surprise, that our Lord was with still? What if we were to believe that in our darkest hour, God had not left us but was pressing more deeply and passionately toward us? What if we were to believe that in our deepest angst over our failures and shame that the power of God was most poignant and purposeful in our lives?
I am not ashamed of the Gospel because even in my deepest shame, my deepest regret, in my darkest hour, the power of God is working for my salvation. Even as I grope in the wilderness, the wellspring of life, the dayspring from on high visits me. And I come to realize, perhaps in the moment of crisis, or perhaps through retrospection, that it never was and never can be my power that will bring me to the purpose and fullness my life, but only the power of God in Christ Jesus.
When we turn toward this font and make the promises of baptism we do so acknowledging a help, a help that comes from the Most High: “I will with God’s help.” And we answer these questions, “Will you continue in the Apostles’ teaching; will you seek and serve Christ in all persons; will you repent and return to the Lord, will you strive for justice and peace,” we answer them all with, “I will with God’s help.” But we do not answer in this manner simply as matter of course but as a matter of faith. It is a faith that is rooted both in our experience of God’s help and our own human frailty. It is rooted in our experience of God meeting and calling us first, and also our experience of not quite making it under our own power and our need to call on God in times of trouble. The call is made in crisis and yet God does not come running because he is already present, already helping us, already lifting us on eagles’ wings, already urging us on even before we make the call.
Each person’s story will be different, but this is the common story of our faith of which I am not ashamed: That God loved us, has never left us, and walks with us in Christ Jesus, even though we turn away again and again. God never ceases to care for us. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God is our helper in every time of trouble in our lives. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God goes with us, even when we foolishly try to bear the load of our lives under our own strength. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God goes before us even in the darkest moment, our death, shows it to be the way of everlasting life. This is the faith we share and we are not ashamed. This is the righteousness of God, that remarkable reality that God cares even for you and even for me. This is such an exciting reality that it is something we wish to share with each other – the power of the Gospel, the power of God, in our lives. This is what St. Paul means when he says that it is “revealed through faith for faith.” Simply put, the footprints of God in our individual lives serves for the building up of the faith of the Church as a whole. The faith I learned was a gift from God through my fathers and mothers in the faith, and the faith of these young ones will be a gift for those who follow them in years to come. Our shared faith, of which we are not ashamed, is a shared gift, for the building up of the Church, of the Kingdom and for the Glory of God. What God has done for you means a whole lot for the life of the Church and for the transformation of the world. The old, old story is new again, in the life of every Christian.
Today, two young girls are presented for baptism and several other youngsters gather around this altar to make their First Holy Communion. Each new Christian and each new communicant brings the whole of their lives, their very being before God, all that they have and all that they are, every good gift that God has given them and they offer it up to God to be a gift to this community of believers and a light to a broken and lost world. They bring their faith, unashamed, they bring the power God, unashamed, and they bring Good News, unashamed, to broken and hurting world. And that Good News is this: that in Christ, love conquers fear, and hope conquers shame.
To this end, while each of us will harbour things about which we are ashamed, and moments in our past we would rather forget, the power of God transforms us and moves us forward. Shame will not be our master nor failure our companion. And this I say emphatically to you young people: Claim Christ as your companion and master and make hope and love your way. When we glance back on the wonderful works God has done in our lives, and when we look upon these young people committing their lives to follow the way of Christ, how then can we ever be ashamed of this Gospel and its power? Nay, we shall not be ashamed to renounce all that separates us from God and proclaim with a sure confidence that Christ is our Lord. For we know that even in our most beleaguered moments that we stand with a Lord whose love is stronger even than death.
The homily is c. 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves and may not be reproduced or redistributed, in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Romans 1:16-17
For I am not ashamed of the gospel; it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith.
--Romans 1:16
There may be many things about which we are ashamed. One only needs to probe beneath the surface of our lives to realize that there are some things that we have done that we would rather not share with others. There are different levels of shame. For example, it has been a number of years since I allowed my time as the manager of a Dairy Queen store to drop off my resume. While managing a Dairy is nothing to be ashamed of, I’d rather just keep it to myself. Why do I not wish to share this fact with a prospective employer? Of what am I ashamed? On a somewhat deeper level, I rarely tell people that I dropped out of Art College at age nineteen because I simply wasn’t good enough and didn’t have the personal discipline to cut it as a professional artist. I suppose that nearly twenty years later I still carry some shame and embarrassment about this failure. And I certainly know that there were times when I worked in a management position at the Anglican Book Centre that I made and was involved in decisions that I would certainly not make again. Of these I can say that I carry regret and yes, some shame.
Each of us will harbour feelings of guilt and shame over things done and left undone, over associations with people we have known, groups with which we have been affiliated, places we have worked. Yes, there will be mistakes in our lives about which we are ashamed, regretful and sorry. To make mistakes is part of being human. Similarly, to grow beyond childish things is also very human. We remain, though, the sum of our parts, and to some extent the shames and regrets of our past always remain a glimpse away in the rear-view mirrors of our lives.
But there is something about which I am not ashamed, and there is something about which none of us should be ashamed, and that is the Gospel of Christ. As Christian people we stand alongside St. Paul in this confession of faith. And might I say it is one of the earliest Christian proclamations of faith. I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith. I am not ashamed because when I look back on the things in my own life that I would rather keep to myself I know and understand that under my own power it is so easy to take a wrong turn, make a bad choice. I understand that under my own power I really have no ability make the right choices for my life. I understand that when I have thought thus, my choices have been less than exemplary and that when pressed to share them with others, I would rather keep them to myself.
Next week Canon Greg and I will be away on a clergy conference. The topic is Passionate Spirituality: From Beleaguered to Beloved. One of the activities in which we will be participating will be a small group time in which we are supposed to share with other clergy a moment in which we have felt beleaguered in ministry. I can tell you that there are many of us who feel a great reluctance to participate in this kind of sharing. I know that I will be careful about what I want to share. And I must ask myself why. In addition to worrying about the judgment of our peers, I think that it is because in our beleaguered moments we believe that we are alone, that we are operating under our own power, and as such when we fail we will necessarily feel that the world has come crashing down and that we are to be deeply ashamed of the darkness in which we find ourselves. But what if we were to believe that even in that loneliest place, to our surprise, that our Lord was with still? What if we were to believe that in our darkest hour, God had not left us but was pressing more deeply and passionately toward us? What if we were to believe that in our deepest angst over our failures and shame that the power of God was most poignant and purposeful in our lives?
I am not ashamed of the Gospel because even in my deepest shame, my deepest regret, in my darkest hour, the power of God is working for my salvation. Even as I grope in the wilderness, the wellspring of life, the dayspring from on high visits me. And I come to realize, perhaps in the moment of crisis, or perhaps through retrospection, that it never was and never can be my power that will bring me to the purpose and fullness my life, but only the power of God in Christ Jesus.
When we turn toward this font and make the promises of baptism we do so acknowledging a help, a help that comes from the Most High: “I will with God’s help.” And we answer these questions, “Will you continue in the Apostles’ teaching; will you seek and serve Christ in all persons; will you repent and return to the Lord, will you strive for justice and peace,” we answer them all with, “I will with God’s help.” But we do not answer in this manner simply as matter of course but as a matter of faith. It is a faith that is rooted both in our experience of God’s help and our own human frailty. It is rooted in our experience of God meeting and calling us first, and also our experience of not quite making it under our own power and our need to call on God in times of trouble. The call is made in crisis and yet God does not come running because he is already present, already helping us, already lifting us on eagles’ wings, already urging us on even before we make the call.
Each person’s story will be different, but this is the common story of our faith of which I am not ashamed: That God loved us, has never left us, and walks with us in Christ Jesus, even though we turn away again and again. God never ceases to care for us. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God is our helper in every time of trouble in our lives. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God goes with us, even when we foolishly try to bear the load of our lives under our own strength. This is our faith, of which I am not ashamed: That God goes before us even in the darkest moment, our death, shows it to be the way of everlasting life. This is the faith we share and we are not ashamed. This is the righteousness of God, that remarkable reality that God cares even for you and even for me. This is such an exciting reality that it is something we wish to share with each other – the power of the Gospel, the power of God, in our lives. This is what St. Paul means when he says that it is “revealed through faith for faith.” Simply put, the footprints of God in our individual lives serves for the building up of the faith of the Church as a whole. The faith I learned was a gift from God through my fathers and mothers in the faith, and the faith of these young ones will be a gift for those who follow them in years to come. Our shared faith, of which we are not ashamed, is a shared gift, for the building up of the Church, of the Kingdom and for the Glory of God. What God has done for you means a whole lot for the life of the Church and for the transformation of the world. The old, old story is new again, in the life of every Christian.
Today, two young girls are presented for baptism and several other youngsters gather around this altar to make their First Holy Communion. Each new Christian and each new communicant brings the whole of their lives, their very being before God, all that they have and all that they are, every good gift that God has given them and they offer it up to God to be a gift to this community of believers and a light to a broken and lost world. They bring their faith, unashamed, they bring the power God, unashamed, and they bring Good News, unashamed, to broken and hurting world. And that Good News is this: that in Christ, love conquers fear, and hope conquers shame.
To this end, while each of us will harbour things about which we are ashamed, and moments in our past we would rather forget, the power of God transforms us and moves us forward. Shame will not be our master nor failure our companion. And this I say emphatically to you young people: Claim Christ as your companion and master and make hope and love your way. When we glance back on the wonderful works God has done in our lives, and when we look upon these young people committing their lives to follow the way of Christ, how then can we ever be ashamed of this Gospel and its power? Nay, we shall not be ashamed to renounce all that separates us from God and proclaim with a sure confidence that Christ is our Lord. For we know that even in our most beleaguered moments that we stand with a Lord whose love is stronger even than death.
The homily is c. 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves and may not be reproduced or redistributed, in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
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