Homily for Pentectost, Year B, 2009
Sunday, May 31st, 2009
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Acts 2:1-21
“… And your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.”
-- Acts 2:17
To dream, to dare to dream, is a part of Christian vocation. For men and women, young and old, to dream is to have hope. We dream about who we could become, who we are becoming in the hands of a loving God. Who we are becoming and who we might be – these things form the essence of our Christian dreaming. We dream about our place in the story, we dream about our community’s place in the story, and we dream about the place of the Church in the world. We dream about what God is doing and will be doing in the days ahead to further His kingdom here on Earth. More profoundly, though, our dreams and longings are longings placed on our hearts by the Spirit of God, the Spirit that gave birth to the church and continues to give birth to our spirits as it is poured out in Holy Baptism.
In the Upper Room, the disciples waited, prayed, and dreamed. They dreamed of the promised gift of the Spirit, they dreamed of the future and their place in it, and they dreamed about what the continuing presence of Christ might mean for them and their world. As it was for them, so to it is for us. As it shaped the longing of the disciples, God’s Holy Spirit shapes our human longing into a holy longing and our human dreaming into holy dreaming. As God’s love is poured out upon us our longing and dreaming is brought to perfection by that same Spirit. To dream is to invite God’s Holy Spirit to enter into our broken lives, wherever we are, in whatever state we find ourselves, and ask for the wings of the Spirit to unfurl in our dreaming. To dream the Church, to dream the Kingdom, is to invite God’s Holy Spirit into our humanity and shape our dreaming and longing into a Christ-like longing for the reconciliation of the world to God.
Our Primate, Archbishop Fred Hiltz, our spiritual leader, has called us to dream. As Canadian Anglicans what are our hopes and dreams for the future of this Anglican Church of Canada. The dream is not simply about what any one of us in particular want the Church to be, but rather for each of us give voice to the voice of the Spirit of God speaking to us individually that we might hear collectively the call of God to Anglicans in this country in the years to come. Like disciples in an Upper Room, we wait and pray; we dream and long. There may be many different voices, many different languages, many different images in our visions and dreams, but can we be open to the Spirit as it descends and allows us to understand one another, even when we speak in different tongues, different voices, appealing to different images, metaphors and paradigms? Can we, will we dare to hear each other and dream together?
Next Sunday, Trinity Sunday, has been declared Vision 2019 Sunday. A most appropriate day indeed, for the Trinity is nothing if not the diversity of persons in united purpose and loving harmony. In our dreaming and purpose can we mirror the divine life of the Blessed Trinity? In our wonderful diversity of persons let us let us dream together the Church and the Kingdom under the blessing of the Spirit that hovered over creation and recreates us day by day. Your pew leaflet includes an insert with ways in which we can dream together, as a parish, and as Canadian Anglicans. I encourage you to take up these opportunities and join your dreaming and longing to the dreaming and longing of Anglicans across this great nation and in this great Church of ours.
Perhaps I could begin. What do I dream?
I dream of a Church that has no fear or reservation in making the Gospel of Christ, the story God’s reconciling love, known to a hurting world.
I dream of a Church that turns to God again and again in prayer and listens to what the Spirit is saying to the Church.
I dream of a Church in which all the children of God are welcome, and not turned away because of human prejudice or human fear of those who are different.
I dream of a Church that has the courage to stand up to the injustices and prejudices of the world around us, and champion the voice and cause of the dispossessed, the marginalized, and the forgotten.
I dream that God will journey with those who have left the Church, and yes, even abandoned their faith in light of the ways that the Church has hurt so many in our history.
I dream that God will open our eyes to the harm we have done through ignorance, selfishness and naiveté. Thus, I dream and long for a meaningful reconciliation with those from whom we are estranged.
I dream of a Church of courageous people gathered under the banner of Christ who stand together and say no to the dark forces of this world that would have us believe that our human value is rooted only in what we can buy or what we can sell.
I dream of a Church that says proclaims a resounding “no” to the selfishness of within us and around us that leads us to destroy, rather than nurture and care for God’s good creation.
And I dream of a Church in which every one of God’s children knows and feels the healing and reconciling love of God in Christ, no matter how broken they are, defeated they are, no matter how sick, depressed or demoralized, I dream that God’s love will be known to any and all in need, strife or affliction, and I dream that we will be the people to carry that love to the world.
This is what I dream and this is what I long for, upon attempting to listen to the voice of God’s Holy Spirit. What do you dream for? What is your holy longing? It is time to share the ponderings of your heart. It is time for men and women, young and old to dream dreams and share their visions that God might shape our dreams and our visions into the vision of his kingdom.
Text copyright 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Showing posts with label Holy Spirit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holy Spirit. Show all posts
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Can These Bones Live?
Homily for Lent 5, Year A, 2008
Sunday, March 9th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Texts: Ezekiel 37:1-14, John 11:1-45
“Can these bones live?”
--Ezekiel 37:3
Some time after the people of Judah were taken into captivity in 587 B.C., the prophet Ezekiel was swept up in a vision in which he was transported to a valley of dry bones – a valley where bone was piled upon bone for as far as the eye could see. It was an unimaginable sight and he stood within its midst. One can only imagine the revulsion that he felt given the palpable stench and taste of death, given the reality of the ritual impurity of the moment, and given the fearsome sight itself of bone upon bone. Frightfully, Ezekiel stood amidst the utter a reality of death itself. Could he have kept himself from weeping? What were the emotions that welled deep within his heart in that moment? He certainly knew that these bones represented the fate of his nation; he certainly knew that this vision of death was not simply a vision, but rather a manifestation of the reality faced by his people in exile. And had God forsaken them? Had God forsaken him? Was this to be the ultimate fate of the people who walked in the darkness of foreign oppression? They had certainly lost their way but they had also been escorted somewhere that they would rather not have gone. Was this to be his own fate? As the horror of the vision overwhelmed him, these words took shape within his ears, and the voice of God spoke to him, “Can these bones live?” A small voice began to form within his own breast and took shape on his own lips, “Oh Lord God, you know."
There is much to weep over in this present age, in a world filled with brokenness and despair, not to mention a church filled with brokenness and resignation over its own apparent imminent demise. Do we not feel as if we might be standing in a valley of dry bones -- bone upon bone for as far as the eye can see? Do we not feel, at times, that whether it be church or world, we have a certain helplessness and hopelessness about how things are going to unfold. Do we dare to stand against the oppressor when the oppressor seems unbeatable? Do we dare to stand against injustice when injustice appears the to have become the order of the day? Are we afraid to embrace change because all we have ever known becomes all we can ever imagine? Shall the exile be the best that we can hope for? Shall battles in court over the possession of church buildings be the best that we can offer to the world? Are we a people without voice, without form, without flesh on our bones, without the breath of life itself – a people without hope? It seems that this is how the world often sees us. Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know.
The vision of Ezekiel is an oracle of hope. The vision of Ezekiel, though beginning in the valley of death, concludes in the Garden of Resurrection. Although Ezekiel stands in the midst of bones dried and discarded, despondent of hope, still he listens for the voice of God in the darkest and most frightful place. And that voice does indeed speak. It is a voice that speaks across the tears of a broken people and calls this lonely prophet to a new hope. "Prophesy to the bones," says the Lord. Ezekiel listens, and perhaps tentatively at first, but with increasing confidence speaks to the bones. The bones come together, bone to bone, rattling with a deafening noise. The noise is overwhelming, but do these bones yet live? Can these bones yet live? Oh Lord, you know.
At the tomb of his friend Lazarus, Jesus was met by Martha, who laments uncontrollably, "If you'd been here my brother would not have died!" How easy it is to blame others. Sometimes the only answer to the brokenness of life, to the brokenness of the world, to the brokenness of the church, is to weep. At the tomb of his friend, Jesus wept. Over life that had departed, over lack of faith, over fear and despair, Jesus wept. In the valley of the dry bones our Lord weeps, and so do we. Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know. Can Lazarus walk amongst us again? Oh Lord, you know.
"I am going to open your graves, oh my people," says the Lord. "But our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely." But the voice of God thunders, “I am going to open your graves, and bring you up to from your graves, oh my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel and you shall know that I am the Lord when I open your graves, and bring you out from your graves, oh my people." Do we dare to believe the prophecy of Ezekiel? Do we dare to hold his words as true? Do we dare to believe that the bones of our faith can live? In a world that tears itself apart in violent acts of self-destruction; and in a church tearing itself apart and demonstrating to the world that it is no better than the worst the world can offer, can we dare to believe that the Lord will breathe life into these dry bones? Can we dare to hope? Is there hope? Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know.
"Lazarus, come forth!" And the bones came together bone to bone, and the man wrapped in a shroud came forth from the tomb as the stone was rolled away, and the Spirit of the Lord moved mightily upon the bones, and Lazarus walked again amongst us; not as one without life, not as one without hope but as a witness to the mighty power of our Lord, a witness to the power of the Resurrection. These bones can live.
The forty days of our Lenten journey are a time for seeking out the broken, shattered, and dry bones of our lives, of the church, and of the world. As we find those bones, as we stand in their midst, as we fall up to our knees and weep over them, we are called to prayer: "can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know." We are called to self-examination, to repentance, but most importantly, to new life. The forty days are a time in which we journey forward through the valley of the dry bones, often finding ourselves in exile in dark places, perhaps even a tomb. In the midst of the valley, in the midst of the dry bones of our lives, we are called to prophesy to those same bones. And indeed these bones shall live. Only you will know the dry bones of your own story; together as a Christian people we seek to discover the dry bones of the church; and together as a human race we seek to uncover the dry bones of humanity. But out of our cry from the grave, we are called forth by our Lord to be his partner that together, we might turn mourning into dancing, brokenness into wholeness, ashes into fire, and death into life.
In these forty days, we journey through the valley of the shadow of death and out the mouth of a tomb into the garden of abundant life. Our Lord who has journeyed through these same depths stands at the mouth of the tomb beckoning us forward into the light -- not the light of some ephemeral, distant, future bliss, but into a world, yes, this world, illuminated by the light of Christ. "Can these bones live?" Yes, oh Lord, they can, they shall, and they will, because in you they are made alive -- because in you we are made alive. We press forward through these forty days knowing that we are not people without hope, but a people alive in the Resurrection of our Lord. We know that even amidst the dust there are always “alleluias” waiting to be sung. We know that even as our lives, our church, and our world struggle our way through the valley of dry bones, our Lord breathes new life on us, and we yet live.
"Lazarus, come forth!"
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, March 9th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Texts: Ezekiel 37:1-14, John 11:1-45
“Can these bones live?”
--Ezekiel 37:3
Some time after the people of Judah were taken into captivity in 587 B.C., the prophet Ezekiel was swept up in a vision in which he was transported to a valley of dry bones – a valley where bone was piled upon bone for as far as the eye could see. It was an unimaginable sight and he stood within its midst. One can only imagine the revulsion that he felt given the palpable stench and taste of death, given the reality of the ritual impurity of the moment, and given the fearsome sight itself of bone upon bone. Frightfully, Ezekiel stood amidst the utter a reality of death itself. Could he have kept himself from weeping? What were the emotions that welled deep within his heart in that moment? He certainly knew that these bones represented the fate of his nation; he certainly knew that this vision of death was not simply a vision, but rather a manifestation of the reality faced by his people in exile. And had God forsaken them? Had God forsaken him? Was this to be the ultimate fate of the people who walked in the darkness of foreign oppression? They had certainly lost their way but they had also been escorted somewhere that they would rather not have gone. Was this to be his own fate? As the horror of the vision overwhelmed him, these words took shape within his ears, and the voice of God spoke to him, “Can these bones live?” A small voice began to form within his own breast and took shape on his own lips, “Oh Lord God, you know."
There is much to weep over in this present age, in a world filled with brokenness and despair, not to mention a church filled with brokenness and resignation over its own apparent imminent demise. Do we not feel as if we might be standing in a valley of dry bones -- bone upon bone for as far as the eye can see? Do we not feel, at times, that whether it be church or world, we have a certain helplessness and hopelessness about how things are going to unfold. Do we dare to stand against the oppressor when the oppressor seems unbeatable? Do we dare to stand against injustice when injustice appears the to have become the order of the day? Are we afraid to embrace change because all we have ever known becomes all we can ever imagine? Shall the exile be the best that we can hope for? Shall battles in court over the possession of church buildings be the best that we can offer to the world? Are we a people without voice, without form, without flesh on our bones, without the breath of life itself – a people without hope? It seems that this is how the world often sees us. Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know.
The vision of Ezekiel is an oracle of hope. The vision of Ezekiel, though beginning in the valley of death, concludes in the Garden of Resurrection. Although Ezekiel stands in the midst of bones dried and discarded, despondent of hope, still he listens for the voice of God in the darkest and most frightful place. And that voice does indeed speak. It is a voice that speaks across the tears of a broken people and calls this lonely prophet to a new hope. "Prophesy to the bones," says the Lord. Ezekiel listens, and perhaps tentatively at first, but with increasing confidence speaks to the bones. The bones come together, bone to bone, rattling with a deafening noise. The noise is overwhelming, but do these bones yet live? Can these bones yet live? Oh Lord, you know.
At the tomb of his friend Lazarus, Jesus was met by Martha, who laments uncontrollably, "If you'd been here my brother would not have died!" How easy it is to blame others. Sometimes the only answer to the brokenness of life, to the brokenness of the world, to the brokenness of the church, is to weep. At the tomb of his friend, Jesus wept. Over life that had departed, over lack of faith, over fear and despair, Jesus wept. In the valley of the dry bones our Lord weeps, and so do we. Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know. Can Lazarus walk amongst us again? Oh Lord, you know.
"I am going to open your graves, oh my people," says the Lord. "But our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely." But the voice of God thunders, “I am going to open your graves, and bring you up to from your graves, oh my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel and you shall know that I am the Lord when I open your graves, and bring you out from your graves, oh my people." Do we dare to believe the prophecy of Ezekiel? Do we dare to hold his words as true? Do we dare to believe that the bones of our faith can live? In a world that tears itself apart in violent acts of self-destruction; and in a church tearing itself apart and demonstrating to the world that it is no better than the worst the world can offer, can we dare to believe that the Lord will breathe life into these dry bones? Can we dare to hope? Is there hope? Can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know.
"Lazarus, come forth!" And the bones came together bone to bone, and the man wrapped in a shroud came forth from the tomb as the stone was rolled away, and the Spirit of the Lord moved mightily upon the bones, and Lazarus walked again amongst us; not as one without life, not as one without hope but as a witness to the mighty power of our Lord, a witness to the power of the Resurrection. These bones can live.
The forty days of our Lenten journey are a time for seeking out the broken, shattered, and dry bones of our lives, of the church, and of the world. As we find those bones, as we stand in their midst, as we fall up to our knees and weep over them, we are called to prayer: "can these bones live? Oh Lord, you know." We are called to self-examination, to repentance, but most importantly, to new life. The forty days are a time in which we journey forward through the valley of the dry bones, often finding ourselves in exile in dark places, perhaps even a tomb. In the midst of the valley, in the midst of the dry bones of our lives, we are called to prophesy to those same bones. And indeed these bones shall live. Only you will know the dry bones of your own story; together as a Christian people we seek to discover the dry bones of the church; and together as a human race we seek to uncover the dry bones of humanity. But out of our cry from the grave, we are called forth by our Lord to be his partner that together, we might turn mourning into dancing, brokenness into wholeness, ashes into fire, and death into life.
In these forty days, we journey through the valley of the shadow of death and out the mouth of a tomb into the garden of abundant life. Our Lord who has journeyed through these same depths stands at the mouth of the tomb beckoning us forward into the light -- not the light of some ephemeral, distant, future bliss, but into a world, yes, this world, illuminated by the light of Christ. "Can these bones live?" Yes, oh Lord, they can, they shall, and they will, because in you they are made alive -- because in you we are made alive. We press forward through these forty days knowing that we are not people without hope, but a people alive in the Resurrection of our Lord. We know that even amidst the dust there are always “alleluias” waiting to be sung. We know that even as our lives, our church, and our world struggle our way through the valley of dry bones, our Lord breathes new life on us, and we yet live.
"Lazarus, come forth!"
Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This homily may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.
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