A Holy Lent

A Sermon for Lent 1, Year A
Sunday, February 10th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 4:1-11

“I invite you to keep a Holy Lent.” These words are spoken by the Celebrant in the Ash Wednesday liturgy. The word “Lent,” itself, is derived from a middle-English word meaning “spring.” Thus, when we speak of Lent, we speak of a springtime in which what was once dead is now coming back to life. Well, in Canada, at least, it is difficult to imagine the season through which we now journey to be a season of springtime. There are no flowers or buds or returning birds, nor have the hibernating animals begun to wake up. We are decidedly in the dead of winter. However, if we take a closer look around us, we will come to realize that all is not dead; even in the chill of winter, there are signs of life. Some birds still sing, some squirrels still scurry, and even beneath the mounds of snow, seeds wait quietly to burst forth. There is life, perhaps it is fleeting, perhaps it is drowsy, but there is indeed life.

And so it is with our Christian faith. Lent appears to us, to be a time of death. Traditionally, Lent has certainly been a time of doing without. I suspect, in many cultures, and indeed in our the early days of our pioneer culture here in Canada, a Lenten fast may have been as much out of necessity as out of piety. In a world in which we have whatever we want, whenever we want it, it is difficult to imagine a day in which some things, some foods, resources, medicines, even contact with other people, were simply not available, all because of the prohibitions of the winter environment. Thus, I suspect that the discipline of giving up something for Lent is indeed a good one, for it reminds us that there are others who do without, and it reminds us that there are some things that we simply do not need. And ultimately, it reminds us that what we truly need might not be things at all but something much deeper, much more profound, much more eternal. Sometimes, though, the presumed austerity of the season might seem to speak more to death than to life, and more to darkness than to light, more to wintertime than to springtime.

We seem to forget that the season of Lent is actually a springtime season and that spring is a time of gradual awakening, of gradually putting down roots, and gradual blossoming into beauty. I must confess, that the contrast between Lent and Easter has always seemed to me quite stark. There is Lent, which is all about darkness, winter, coldness, austerity, and then there is Easter, which is all about light, spring, warmth, new life, and overflowing abundance. Upon closer examination, though, the seasons of the year change slowly, do they not? Surely, we have examples sudden snowfalls, flash floods, and unexpected heat waves. But for the most part, our seasons slide into one another, and we rely on newscasters to tell us that it is now spring, or summer, or winter, or fall, and for the most part we say either, “It doesn’t seem much like winter yet,” or “Wow, I thought it was fall already!” This is all to say that our movement from season to season is a gradual one. And so, I say, is our movement from Lent to Easter. The movement is gradual, and the signs somewhat deceptive. Yes it is dark, yes it is cold, but lo, there is life.

In the history of the Church, Lent, as with springtime, has been a time for putting down roots. Lent is the time for catechesis, that is, for learning about the faith, for deepening our life of prayer, and for disciplining ourselves, or regulating our lives, that we might grow. We do all of this so that at Easter we can glory in the flower of our faith in bloom.

Again, the celebrant in the Ash Wednesday liturgy outlines what a Holy Lent might look like, namely a time of “self-examination, penitence, prayer, fasting, almsgiving, and reading and meditating on the word of God.” It is tempting to look upon Lent simply as a time of “giving up” something in order that we might experience what it is like to “do without.” I do not want to disparage this practise or its piety, but I suggest that our Lenten Spring should be something more akin to the cultivation of a garden. It should involve the care and quality of the soil, the quality of its tilling, its location with respect to sun and shade, the planting of the vegetation and the subsequent care and tending to its growth and blooming.

With this image in view, I think I am discovering that the Lenten Spring is a time of discipline for growth. This is why Lent has traditionally been a time of Christian Education and Baptismal Preparation programs. This is why Lent has been a time of regulating our diets and tending to the care of our bodies. This is why Lent has been a time for looking to our past failings and false self-expectations and readjusting our hopes and dreams and expectations. This is why Lent has been a time for examining the injustices of our society and our world and seeking to assist others out of our abundance so that the unjust chasm between rich and poor might be closed in order that the world might more closely resemble the kingdom of God in which there is neither rich nor poor. This is why Lent has been a time to read and meditate on God’s word in order that we might more closely align our lives and wills to the divine life and the divine will. Each of these aspects of Lent speaks of discipline, and not the kind of discipline that breaks us, but the kind of discipline that gives us growth. These are the disciplines of spring.

And what of the forty days faced by Jesus? Forty days in the wilderness. Forty days of discipline. Forty days of temptation. It is easy for us to imagine the austerity of Jesus. It is easy for us to imagine a dirty, broken man, emaciated by the elements a lack of food. It is easy for us to imagine a man overwhelmed by the darkness of the cold desert nights. Instead, St. Matthew gives us the opposite image – a man truly alive; a man who, having journeyed through his own Lent emerges mature, blossoming, resisting the temptations of the devil; a man with a wellspring of depth and confidence and reliance on his Father in Heaven, a man who could not and would not be broken by temptation.

What also emerged was a man who wanted more. He was famished, but not for things temporal, but longing with an increasing hunger for things eternal. Just as the forty days strengthened him against his enemy, the forty days deepened his appetite and longing for God. God was faithful, for we are told that when all was said and done, the angels came and ministered to him.

May this forty days be for each of you a time of self-discipline, of self-discovery, a time of deepening your faith, and a time of growth in your love of God. Remember it is the springtime of your faith. May you meet the bright Sun of Righteousness at your joyful Eastertide, with a renewed hope, a strengthened resolve, and a hunger in your heart for the living God. And may the angels of God minister to you on your Lenten journey.

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.

The People Who Walked In Darkness

Homily for Proper 3, Year A, 2008
Sunday, January 27th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Texts: Isaiah 9:2, Matt. 4:18-22

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness-- on them light has shined. --Isaiah 9:2

During the days of the prophet Isaiah, darkness covered the face of the earth -- the darkness of human despair as an invading army walked over kingdom of God’s chosen people. Imagine if you will, families separated, people uprooted from their homes, young men killed attempting to defend their homeland, and all of it seeming so senseless. And while it might be explained that the collapse of their world was the result of their impiety, the cause no longer mattered. Now they were overwhelmed by a deep darkness – a darkness that brought despair and crushed all hope.

I wonder if we, too, sometimes feel as if a deep darkness has covered the face of this world. Tyrants walk the earth, masquerading as angels of light, all the while exploiting the weakest and frailest amongst us. And perhaps more problematic than the wrath of tyrants is the powerlessness and indeed apathy to which we succumb in the face of systems of domination. Do we not feel powerless to challenge the powers of this world and do we not feel powerless to make changes? Even if we have worked for good in our lives, how discouraging it is to see evil apparently get the upper hand. And surely, as the psalmist fears, we too must fear that we shall fail to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.

The people of ancient Israel felt this way, but Isaiah brought them a message – a message about a new day dawning, a new light shining. He told those who lived under the cloud of deep darkness -- in a land in which the light of goodness had long been absent -- that they shall see a great light. Indeed, they were liberated, released from their slavery and captivity. A disciple of Isaiah lived to sing the song, “Arise, shine for thy light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.” A light shone forth and the truth was made manifest, that God does act in history and does act for his people.

It was true then and it is true now. The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light. As Christian people, we know that the light of the world is our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. As Christian people we know that the light has shone in the darkness and the darkness has never been able to overcome it. We know that the light of Christ is the light that shone in creation and is the light of all human beings. And we know and believe that even if we walk in darkness, a light shines upon us.

Did those first disciples of Jesus recognize the light? Did Simon, Andrew, and the sons of Zebedee catch that glimpse of glory in the man who called them from their nets and boats? As simple peasants who lived their lives in a world of Roman occupation and domination, they knew something of darkness. They knew the feeling of powerlessness and they understood the apathy of living under oppression. They knew what it was to walk in a land of great darkness, and they may certainly have understood the words of Isaiah as applying to their lives, to their world. So, what was it about this man Jesus and his words, “follow me”, that inspired them? What made them put down their nets? What made them see in him, the words of the prophet fulfilled? What made them glimpse the light?

“I will make you fishers of men.” With these words he inspired them. Inspiration in its truest sense and meaning is no mere pep talk, but the gushing in of the Spirit. With these words he breathed into them hope. With these words he breathed into them longing. And with these words he breathed into them potential – their human potential fully realized in Christ. If they would follow him, journey with him, dwell with him, then they would become who they were created to be. They had been on the right track, they knew they were fishermen, God had given them the gifts they needed; they had just not realized what their catch would be. As Jesus came to them by the seashore, their futures opened before them and they truly became themselves. And in this moment, they were no longer powerless, scared, hopeless or apathetic; they were empowered by the Holy Spirit to be partners with the living Christ in the breaking through of the light. The people who walked in darkness saw a great light.

Jesus stands at our seashore, be it Bay and Bloor, Yonge and John, or Jane and Finch -- Jesus stands and calls us from our darkness. It may be hard to believe while tyrants walk the Earth, but God brings new life into the world. As all seems lost, a baby is born. When the sky seems darkest, a new light appears, shining in the East. Those who watch and pray will recognize the light as the light that can never be overcome. When all seems lost, hope is born in the midst of us, and in the midst of our toil, as we cast the nets of our work, we behold the glory of God.

Can we be inspired? Shall we answer the call: “Follow me?” Shall we lay down our nets to take up the work of the gospel? Shall we be fishers of the people who have walked in darkness? Shall we share the light given to us in our baptism? Shall we, with Christ, overcome the darkness even as it appears to have won the day? We will, with God’s help, for the Christ walks with us in this task, never leaving us alone but lighting a path along the way with a light that has not, nor ever shall be never be overcome.

Copyright 2008, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This sermon may not be distributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

He Comes to Us

Sermon for Advent 4, Year A
Sunday, December 23rd, 2007
Holy Trinity, Thornhill
Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 1:18-25

“…He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.”
--Matthew 1:24

What if it had been you? What if in the days of your early adolescence an angel had spoken to you in the silence of the night and prophesied that you would be the mother of the saviour? What if as a young man, in the depth of your dreaming you received an angelic vision that the woman to whom you were betrothed, but with whom you had had no sexual relation, was about to bear a son who would save his people. What if it had been you – you or I, who had received this message, heard the awesome and frightening news? News that would not only affect our future, but also the future of the world. News of a son who would save his people. What if it were you or I?

Would our response have been Mary’s “let it be unto me according to your word?” Would our response have been “my soul magnifies the Lord,” or “My spirit rejoices in God my saviour?” Or would the shame of an illegitimate pregnancy bring fear, and shame, and loathing? Would our response more closely resemble the response of Joseph in Matthew’s Gospel, to put away the woman of shame? Could we have borne the shame or faced the judgement of those around us.

But the angel did come to Mary, and it did come to Joseph, and despite their initial fear, astonishment, and shame, both Mary and Joseph said “yes.” Joseph did not put away his future wife, nor did Mary hide her face in shame. Instead, Mary went immediately, with haste into the Judean hillside, into the country, to her relative Elizabeth, who in her old-age had also received a visitation from the Lord – Elizabeth who six months pregnant was destined to be the mother of John the Baptist.

Mary went – a young girl, barely a woman -- to Elizabeth, an elder, a mentor, a wise woman. She faced not the burden alone, but in the company of this holy mother who was herself a vehicle of God’s grace. And there she stayed for some time, sharing her both her fears and her dreams with the one, who in a remarkable way, could understand her sacred calling. For when she saw Elizabeth the words from the elder woman’s mouth were not words of judgment, nor words of condemnation, but words of blessing. Even within her own womb, the baby leapt for joy. Elizabeth, who had also been touched by God, greeted the one who others may have shunned, with reverence, respect and admiration: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” and she wondered aloud, “why has it happened that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

And so Elizabeth’s son likewise wondered aloud many years later, when the same Lord approached him on the banks of the Jordan river and asked him for baptism. Like his mother he evinced his own unworthiness, “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal – it is he who should be baptizing me.” And yet, the timeless son of God was baptized by John. He came to John. He comes to us.

He comes to us again in these latter days – again and again. It shall not matter whether we are rich or poor, of high or low estate. He comes to us – again and again. And it is in our weakness and our brokenness that we meet him and he meets us. He comes to the scared and frightened child in each of us as he came to a trembling adolescent girl in Nazareth. He comes to us in our false pride and vanity, in our fear of shame and judgement as he came to a young man who actually considered abandoning his bride to be. He comes to us in our aged brokenness, in our regret and disappointment about what might have been for our lives if only things had worked out differently, as he came to an old woman whose womb had been barren throughout the decades of her life. He comes to us in our world of darkness, sadness, violence and anger, as he came to a middle-eastern land so long ago, and a people disappointed by failed hopes and foreign domination.

He comes to us today not with words of judgement or condemnation for who we are or what we might have been. He comes to us not with anger or wrath for the mistakes we have made or continue to make. He comes to us not with punishment for the sins in which we inevitably participate. He comes to us with great love, with words of hope, with healing in his wings. He comes to us with these words: Greetings favoured ones. He comes to us with the promise to be born within each one of us, to turn our fear to hope, our sadness to joy, and our sorrow into laughter. He comes to us, to you and me, with the same message that came to Mary and Joseph, and Elizabeth and Zechariah, greetings favoured ones. They were not great and powerful people, but people like you and me – and they were favoured by God; favoured to birth the Christ to a hurting world.

We are favoured, for the Christ has been birthed in each of us, and continues to be born again and again in our hearts with the purpose of transforming not only our lives but transforming the world and bringing hope to a people that walk in darkness. Hide not your light -- that is, his light -- under a bushel, but let it be unto you according to his word, that each of us might sing the words of blessed Mary this Christmastide and always, “My Soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my Spirit rejoices in God my saviour!”

Copyright 2007, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.