Homily for the Baptism of the Lord, Year A, 2011
Sunday, January 9th, 2011
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Isaiah 42:1-9
Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights.
-Isaiah 42:1
Isaiah sings of a servant, and what a strange thing to sing about! When you think about it, how many songs are written to extol the glories of the hired help? Songs are sung about kings and princes, songs are sung about lovers and heroes, but how many popular songs are written about the servant? I suppose with some thinking we might posit an example or two, but when we pause to consider it, the servant is indeed a strange person to sing about. I suppose that if we were to seek a modern equivalent, it would perhaps be like singing a ballad about the Walmart greeter. Nothing against the Walmart greeter, of course, it is just that he or she is not normally the subject of panegyric praise.
The book of the prophet Isaiah contains several songs about the servant; perhaps the most famous is his song about the suffering servant. Many will recognize from our Good Friday liturgy the words, “He was wounded for our transgression, bruised for our iniquities.” Today we hear another one of those songs, “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights!” These songs that Isaiah sung resonated with the people of the Early Church. They would have been familiar songs, well-known sacred songs of their Jewish heritage. They identified with these songs.
There is much debate in scholarship over who Isaiah thought the servant to be, but it is fairly clear that the people of ancient Judea considered the songs to be about them as a nation. The servant was the chosen one, in whom God delights, who walks in his way, who has his Spirit. But the servant is also the one who suffers, who seems abandoned, and yet is never abandoned. The people of Judea could certainly feel their own story being sung in the words of these ancient servant songs. And so, I believe, it was.
But songs have many layers of meaning, and sacred songs all the more so. Thus, it is no surprise that for the early Christians, new layers of meaning began to resonate in these well-worn and time-honoured sacred songs after they experienced the Risen Jesus in their midst. They sung them once again as they gathered, and as they heard the old, old song, once again, they heard it now with fresh ears. The suffering servant became for them, Jesus on the cross: “He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities; like a sheep he was led to the slaughter; he was despised and reject; a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.”
The servant song we hear today is of a different sort, but it brought to life the story of Jesus with no less power: “Here is my servant, my chosen, in whom my soul delights: I will put my strength on him; I am the Lord, I have called you in righteousness; I have given you as a covenant to the people; a light to the nations, to bring the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness.”
Instead of passion of Jesus evoked by the suffering servant song, this song brought to mind the coming of Jesus, the giving of light to the world, and all that that coming brings, especially release from captivity for the poor, the weak, the persecuted and those weighed down by sin and guilt. It called to mind his baptism, the pouring forth of God’s Spirit upon him, his vocation as the chosen Messiah of God, his identity as God’s beloved child and servant, and importantly as the incarnation of God’s righteousness. When the people of the Early Church recalled the baptism of Jesus, this was the song they sung, for it extolled the servant who consented to be baptized in humility by John, in order that the righteousness of God might be fulfilled, even though he need not be baptized. For them, this song was about Jesus, and so it is for us, as well.
Thus, we sing this song still and new layers of meaning continue to burst forth. As we approach the font today, to welcome new Christians into the family, and to renew our own Baptismal vows and covenant, we hear these words, “Here are my servants, whom I uphold, my chosen in whom my heart delights; I have put my spirit upon them, and they will bring forth justice to the nations!” The song that was sung about an unknown servant became the song of an ancient people who felt their chosenness in their delivery from the bondage of Egyptian slavery into a promised land, is also the song of Jesus our Lord who delivers us through the waters of baptism into new life. But oh so importantly, it is for us today our song, the song of our servanthood, the song of our deliverance, the song of our chosenness, and the song of our vocation to live out and proclaim the love of God. As baptized Christians, the ancient song becomes our song, we become his children and yes, servants of God, and of one another.
And all of a sudden it makes sense. We can sing songs extolling kings and queens, great men and women. These songs will always abound, but there is another song that echoes from age-to-age, the song of the servant, and it is a song that God sings! God sings a song of praise delighting in his people. It is a song he sings with passion and with love. It is a song he sings with joy and delight. It is a song he sang at the creation of humanity and a song he will sing at the consummation of all history. It is a song he sings of us, his servants, his children, in whom he delights.
c. 2011 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Showing posts with label baptism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baptism. Show all posts
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Gift of Joy and Wonder: A Homily for All Saints Day and a Celebration of Holy Baptism
Homily for All Saints Day, Year B, 2009
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 11:32-44
Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?
--John 11:41
The culminating prayer in our baptismal liturgy petitions God to give the candidates of baptism “the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works.” I certainly realize that as we travel this road of life that it can often be difficult to find and experience joy and wonder. Our souls have such a deep longing for these things, though. The birth of children and the welcoming of these children into the household of God is a moment in which we seek to claim God’s joy and wonder for them and for ourselves. It is a moment in which we see the road of life begin to open with glorious possibilities. It is a road of mystery, in the best sense of sacred mystery, in which we affirm our belief that God’s loving hand and life-giving Spirit will forever guide and animate the journey of this life for each and every Christian person.
This is a claim we make even amidst the troubles of the day. We have seen a people gripped by fear this past week as worries about the H1H1 virus have caused long line-ups at vaccination clinics. To a large degree, we have cause to be frightened, for we have seen the all-too frightening consequences of this virus. Fear exerts a power over us that threatens to tear the fabric of society and our souls. Whether or not the vaccination program has been competently administered is not a matter that is with my expertise and I am not capable of judging it. Yet, consider the anger, frustration, and panic that has been exhibited as people fear they will lose their place in line, or not get the vaccination in time. Consider what such anger, frustration and panic does to our community, and consider what it does to our souls.
In a town called Bethany, not far from Jerusalem, a dear friend of Jesus had fallen ill. Jesus, that great healer, did not get there on time and Lazarus died. When he finally arrived, Lazarus’ sister Mary was beside herself with grief. Panic and perhaps even anger had given way to despondency. She dropped to the feet of her Lord and wept bitterly, “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” And he joined her in her tears, Jesus himself wept.
Then words of derision came from the crowd, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” We know the rest of the story, the stone is rolled away, and Jesus utters the words “Lazarus, come forth!” And the dead man walks again.
For those in our lives who walk with pain and loss, in particular the loss of ones so dear, this passage may, on the surface, be cold comfort. We do not see the dead raised as Lazarus was raised. Yet, I would ask us to consider one oft-neglected phrase uttered by Jesus before he raised Lazarus, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
Jesus entered a town filled with fear, with anger, with frustration about him and about his ministry. He was met with derision and unbelief. Yet as the people wept, he wept, and as the people’s hearts were filled with trouble, so was his heart troubled. He joined them in depth of their despair and suffered alongside them -- Lazarus was his friend, too, remember.
But even as his heart was troubled and even as he wept with them, he reminded them of a promise he made, that if they believed they would see God’s glory. On that day in Bethany, when belief was so hard, God’s glory broke through. The miracle they witnessed was a miracle that pointed to the greatest miracle this world has ever known, the Resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. The raising of Lazarus, as grand as it might seem to us who have not witnessed such things, is but a sign of the act of God that would restore life to the world. On that day in Bethany, when all seemed lost, God revealed his glory to a hurting and wounded people. He gave them the gift of faith, of belief, and the gift of joy and wonder.
Baptism is not inoculation to the pains and hurts of this life. It is not a vaccine that will protect us from illness or mortal death. Rather, baptism is the claim of a loving God on our lives that we shall never be left alone in such moments and that even in the midst of pain, grief, loss, frustration, anger and fear, God will reveal his glory. God does not bring these things upon us, and yet, somehow in divine mystery, just as he did in a lowly stable, God enters in, unexpected and unbidden and we behold his glory. Baptism is about saying “yes” to that glory; it is about believing in the light that shines in the darkness.
Thus, we welcome today these new Christians. We know that at times their lives will be easy and at other times, difficult. Yet we welcome them in full confidence and knowledge that they belong to Christ and that at the most unexpected moments along the road, he shall reveal himself to them and they shall marvel with joy and wonder at all his glorious works.
c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 11:32-44
Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?
--John 11:41
The culminating prayer in our baptismal liturgy petitions God to give the candidates of baptism “the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works.” I certainly realize that as we travel this road of life that it can often be difficult to find and experience joy and wonder. Our souls have such a deep longing for these things, though. The birth of children and the welcoming of these children into the household of God is a moment in which we seek to claim God’s joy and wonder for them and for ourselves. It is a moment in which we see the road of life begin to open with glorious possibilities. It is a road of mystery, in the best sense of sacred mystery, in which we affirm our belief that God’s loving hand and life-giving Spirit will forever guide and animate the journey of this life for each and every Christian person.
This is a claim we make even amidst the troubles of the day. We have seen a people gripped by fear this past week as worries about the H1H1 virus have caused long line-ups at vaccination clinics. To a large degree, we have cause to be frightened, for we have seen the all-too frightening consequences of this virus. Fear exerts a power over us that threatens to tear the fabric of society and our souls. Whether or not the vaccination program has been competently administered is not a matter that is with my expertise and I am not capable of judging it. Yet, consider the anger, frustration, and panic that has been exhibited as people fear they will lose their place in line, or not get the vaccination in time. Consider what such anger, frustration and panic does to our community, and consider what it does to our souls.
In a town called Bethany, not far from Jerusalem, a dear friend of Jesus had fallen ill. Jesus, that great healer, did not get there on time and Lazarus died. When he finally arrived, Lazarus’ sister Mary was beside herself with grief. Panic and perhaps even anger had given way to despondency. She dropped to the feet of her Lord and wept bitterly, “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” And he joined her in her tears, Jesus himself wept.
Then words of derision came from the crowd, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” We know the rest of the story, the stone is rolled away, and Jesus utters the words “Lazarus, come forth!” And the dead man walks again.
For those in our lives who walk with pain and loss, in particular the loss of ones so dear, this passage may, on the surface, be cold comfort. We do not see the dead raised as Lazarus was raised. Yet, I would ask us to consider one oft-neglected phrase uttered by Jesus before he raised Lazarus, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”
Jesus entered a town filled with fear, with anger, with frustration about him and about his ministry. He was met with derision and unbelief. Yet as the people wept, he wept, and as the people’s hearts were filled with trouble, so was his heart troubled. He joined them in depth of their despair and suffered alongside them -- Lazarus was his friend, too, remember.
But even as his heart was troubled and even as he wept with them, he reminded them of a promise he made, that if they believed they would see God’s glory. On that day in Bethany, when belief was so hard, God’s glory broke through. The miracle they witnessed was a miracle that pointed to the greatest miracle this world has ever known, the Resurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. The raising of Lazarus, as grand as it might seem to us who have not witnessed such things, is but a sign of the act of God that would restore life to the world. On that day in Bethany, when all seemed lost, God revealed his glory to a hurting and wounded people. He gave them the gift of faith, of belief, and the gift of joy and wonder.
Baptism is not inoculation to the pains and hurts of this life. It is not a vaccine that will protect us from illness or mortal death. Rather, baptism is the claim of a loving God on our lives that we shall never be left alone in such moments and that even in the midst of pain, grief, loss, frustration, anger and fear, God will reveal his glory. God does not bring these things upon us, and yet, somehow in divine mystery, just as he did in a lowly stable, God enters in, unexpected and unbidden and we behold his glory. Baptism is about saying “yes” to that glory; it is about believing in the light that shines in the darkness.
Thus, we welcome today these new Christians. We know that at times their lives will be easy and at other times, difficult. Yet we welcome them in full confidence and knowledge that they belong to Christ and that at the most unexpected moments along the road, he shall reveal himself to them and they shall marvel with joy and wonder at all his glorious works.
c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)