Homily for Proper 26, Year C, 2010
Sunday, Sept 19th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Psalm 91
“He who dwells under the shelter of the Most High, abides under the shadow of the Almighty.”
Psalm 91:1
For nearly four years now, this parish has been taking stock of its health through a tool called “Natural Church Development” or “NCD”. Part of the NCD process is a survey in which parishioners have the opportunity to reflect on key aspects of our shared life in this community. One of the many questions asked is, “Do you believe God will work powerfully in this parish in the next five years?”
Sadly, this question sometimes elicits a very negative response. It may be because changing demographics make us wonder if the parish has future viability. Where are the young people? And indeed, where are all the Anglicans? It may be in part because such language of “powerful works of God,” seems much more in accord with images of faith-healing and televangelists, and distant from the experience of this worshiping community. It may also be that sometimes, we simply forget about God as we go about the “stuff” of Church.
Today is my last Sunday with this community and as I prepare to take my leave, I wish to state, even proclaim, without reservation, that I believe God will indeed work powerfully in this community in the next five years. How do I know this? Why do I believe it? I know it and believe it because I have seen it.
It has been my great privilege to have journeyed with this parish for the past three years. It has been a privilege not only because you have welcomed me into your lives and into your hearts, but also because this is a community in which the flame of the living God burns. For one hundred and eighty years God has worked powerfully in this community, drawing first a pioneer people together, later calling the descendents of those same people to take the risk of faith and move this very building to its current location, and is still calling us today to be a city set up on a hill, a light to the world.
That is, of course, the grand sweep of our narrative in Thornhill. There are a myriad of personal stories, though – stories of faith that stand as monuments to the power of our God here in this place. In three short years, a blip in the life of this parish, I have witnessed the power of God working amongst you. God is alive and working powerfully in this place. Perhaps we have to become a little better about sharing these “sightings” as there are many to be shared. Of the many “sightings” I have witnessed, here is one: This past Thursday I had lunch for one last time with our Holy Trinity Quilters. To sit with these wonderful ladies has been a source of weekly joy and encouragement for me. And as I looked around that table, I saw the power and the love of Jesus Christ reigning and shining rays into our broken world. These women are sisters who have upheld each other through sickness, through the death of loved ones, through retirements, through difficult moves, through challenges and disappointments. Week by week they gather in faithful service to each other and to this church, and break bread together. Here is the miracle: Things that would have been too much to bear for one person alone, are lifted and shared, and carried together. How is this possible? Because there in the midst of this love, in the breaking of the bread, Jesus Christ is Risen. Christ has knit these people together and in the midst of much challenge, they have found joy and love in the company of sisters. Alleluia, the Lord is Risen indeed!
This is but one sighting; I could cite so many others. As emails and phone calls have poured in with words of encouragement and farewells, my mind has gone to the intimate pastoral moments I have shared with so many – both the moments of joy when health is restored, new jobs are found, friends and families are reconciled, and also the moments when death comes, or jobs have been lost, or families and friends have fallen away. But I can say with all my heart that I have witnessed the faithfulness of God in all these things; so many sightings. Our Lord is walking with us. Clergy will come and clergy will go, but God has never and will never leave this place. In the days ahead, I would commend you together and as members of your various smaller groups, to consider the sightings of God you have witnessed in your time in this community.
To be sure, any time of transition is a time of anxiety, but be comforted by the truth the psalmist proclaims, “You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” For one hundred and eighty years, the Most High has made this wonderful place a stronghold for all who put their trust in Him. God is here, and working powerfully in the stories of your lives. Never forget this. I am reminded of the words of that old Christmas carol, “I heard the bells on Christmas Day,” and its culminating verse which has the words, “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, God is not dead nor doth he sleep!” The presence of God is not contingent on any priest. It is not contingent on the perfect congregational development program. It is not contingent on committees, or wardens, or advisory boards or by-laws or church canons. In fact, I believe it is not contingent at all. God has chosen to dwell here, to work powerfully here, to claim this people, to claim you, as his own. Never forget this. Need you then be afraid? What is there to fear? There is no arrow that flies by day, nor any terror of the night that can break the hand of God. God is your refuge; put your trust in Him.
Next week, it is my hope and prayer that each one of you will invite a friend to join you. Bishop Bill and I are perfectly aware that a time of transition is a strange time to expect anyone to come “back to church.” And the temptation will be, of course, to say “maybe next year, when things get back to normal, when we have a new priest, when things settle down.” But my friends, God is here now! We don’t invite friends back to church to boost our numbers or to save the church (saving the church is God’s job, after all, not ours), but rather we invite friends to church because God is here! We invite friends to church because we believe that God is alive, that God is present, and that God, through the power of the cross of Jesus Christ and his glorious resurrection, changes lives. Did you notice that word “change?” That’s right, God changes things. God is here and working powerfully in this time transition. While it has the potential to be a time of anxiety, God sees it as a time to act and changes lives.
So I thank Christ my God, and each of you, for allowing me to begin my ordained ministry amongst at Holy Trinity, in a place where God is working mighty acts of power every day. Keep your eyes peeled for his surprises, take his mighty hand, and allow yourselves to feel the warmth of his loving embrace during this time of transition, and from but a short distance, I believe I will hear word of God’s mighty acts in the parish of Holy Trinity, Thornhill.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
There are no Write-offs with God - A Homily for Proper 24, Year C, 2010
Homily for Proper 24, Year C, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 15:1-10
"What woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?"
--Luke 15:8
I am a terrible one for losing or misplacing things. Sometimes I am so preoccupied by other matters that after making a cup of tea I will place the sugar in the refrigerator and the milk in the cupboard. Athena doesn’t even need to ask me any more where these things are. After fifteen years of marriage, she has learned how my distracted mind works.
I used to have a little leather change purse that my grandmother made for my grandfather. After he died she gave it to me. I treasured it very much, but sadly, one day I lost it, never to be found again. This brings me to my current problem. I am constantly losing pocket change in the chairs, in the couch, and in the car. One day this week I got out of the car, carrying an armful of things, and loose change came out of my pockets onto the ground, and a penny rolled under the car. It was raining, so I quickly gathered up most of the change, but decided I wasn’t going to get down on my hands and knees for a penny and rushed into the church. Some things just don’t seem to be worth going after.
When I was manager of the Anglican Book Centre at Church House, I learned a great deal from the General Synod’s Treasurer, a wonderful man named Jim who had the most impressive Scottish accent. When we would take inventory and come up with the discrepancy list, and begin the search for what was lost, he taught us that certain things must be found and accounted for (namely things of great value) and that there were other things (like little trinkets) that were simply “not material.” Some things just weren’t going after. That day as I dropped that change, the penny under the car just seemed to be “not material.”
I think most of us have had moments when we have realized that we have just needed to cut our losses in some way or another. There are some things that are not worth going after. This need not be limited to tangible things. There may be dreams that we have needed to let go of or hopes that we must leave unfulfilled. To return to the old accounting terminology, there are many things we may just need to “write off.”
How fortunate we are then, to have a God that does not believe in “write-offs.” The God we worship deems all of us, and indeed all his creation, of infinite value. When I hear those parables, parables of lost sheep, lost coins, and a third parable about a certain lost son that follows immediately on today’s texts, I wonder if I would go and search for that one coin in ten, or one sheep in a hundred that was lost. I wonder if, having taken inventory, I would count the loss as “not material” and “write it off” grateful for what I still had. Jesus suggests to the Pharisees that they would of course go after what was lost. But I wonder if hearing his words they might share similar thoughts to my own and begin questioning whether or not they would really seek out what was lost. At first glance, it because this parable contains a question directed at the Pharisees (“who among you would not go searching?”), it would appear that the parable is a moral lesson about what we should do and how we should act. When I think about how I would act though, and the pennies that I have left under the car, and the “write-offs” that are strewn about my life, I doubt I can live up to such a standard.
But, upon deeper reflection, the story is less about what we would do and more about what God does. These are parables meant to instruct us on the nature of God. And as we consider the text more closely, we realize that Jesus does not intend for us to align ourselves with the one who does the seeking but as the one being sought out! Recognizing that more than likely, we would not seek out what is lost, our attention turns to what has been lost and in what is lost we begin to see our own story. We are not the Pharisees, whom Jesus questions, but the lost sheep, the lost coin, or the lost son.
Who amongst us has not felt left behind or misplaced or discarded at some moment or another by those in whom we placed our trust. Oh, this feeling can come in so many ways – the unexpected news that we have been downsized; the breakdown of a marriage and impact that has on family members; the death of one dearly loved; or more to the point of the parable, when we have done something that we dearly regret that has isolated us from others. So many situations may leave us feeling abandoned or unimportant. More than once I have felt like a “write-off.” I expect this is true for others as well. We are the lost sheep, the lost coin.
The Good News is that God relentlessly pursues that one sheep in a hundred, that one in coin in ten, that penny under the car, that misplaced trinket, that forlorn lonely one, and yes, even and especially, the sinner. There is not one that is not precious in sight. We deal not with a distant, aloof God, but with one who, in the person of Jesus Christ, chose to walk amongst us through the uncertainty of life and seek us out when hearts are broken and mistakes are made. A lost coin, a lost sheep, a lost soul, these are all precious in his sight. God longs deeply and everlastingly to enfold each and every one of us in the embrace of divine love.
This is a love that brings about reconciliation in the midst of conflict, comfort in the midst of loss, and healing in the midst of brokenness. It is a love offered unto death and yet is more powerful than death, for it is a love that broke the chains of death in the Resurrection of our Lord. It is a love that scours creation for what is lost and restores it to glory. There is no coin of so small a denomination that it matters not to the Lord. There is no sinner with so great a sin that God’s love cannot redeem. The lamp of God shines into the darkest corners and finds us shedding rays of hope and love.
Thus in moments when we feel most alone, fear not, for there are no “write-offs” in the Kingdom of God.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 15:1-10
"What woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it?"
--Luke 15:8
I am a terrible one for losing or misplacing things. Sometimes I am so preoccupied by other matters that after making a cup of tea I will place the sugar in the refrigerator and the milk in the cupboard. Athena doesn’t even need to ask me any more where these things are. After fifteen years of marriage, she has learned how my distracted mind works.
I used to have a little leather change purse that my grandmother made for my grandfather. After he died she gave it to me. I treasured it very much, but sadly, one day I lost it, never to be found again. This brings me to my current problem. I am constantly losing pocket change in the chairs, in the couch, and in the car. One day this week I got out of the car, carrying an armful of things, and loose change came out of my pockets onto the ground, and a penny rolled under the car. It was raining, so I quickly gathered up most of the change, but decided I wasn’t going to get down on my hands and knees for a penny and rushed into the church. Some things just don’t seem to be worth going after.
When I was manager of the Anglican Book Centre at Church House, I learned a great deal from the General Synod’s Treasurer, a wonderful man named Jim who had the most impressive Scottish accent. When we would take inventory and come up with the discrepancy list, and begin the search for what was lost, he taught us that certain things must be found and accounted for (namely things of great value) and that there were other things (like little trinkets) that were simply “not material.” Some things just weren’t going after. That day as I dropped that change, the penny under the car just seemed to be “not material.”
I think most of us have had moments when we have realized that we have just needed to cut our losses in some way or another. There are some things that are not worth going after. This need not be limited to tangible things. There may be dreams that we have needed to let go of or hopes that we must leave unfulfilled. To return to the old accounting terminology, there are many things we may just need to “write off.”
How fortunate we are then, to have a God that does not believe in “write-offs.” The God we worship deems all of us, and indeed all his creation, of infinite value. When I hear those parables, parables of lost sheep, lost coins, and a third parable about a certain lost son that follows immediately on today’s texts, I wonder if I would go and search for that one coin in ten, or one sheep in a hundred that was lost. I wonder if, having taken inventory, I would count the loss as “not material” and “write it off” grateful for what I still had. Jesus suggests to the Pharisees that they would of course go after what was lost. But I wonder if hearing his words they might share similar thoughts to my own and begin questioning whether or not they would really seek out what was lost. At first glance, it because this parable contains a question directed at the Pharisees (“who among you would not go searching?”), it would appear that the parable is a moral lesson about what we should do and how we should act. When I think about how I would act though, and the pennies that I have left under the car, and the “write-offs” that are strewn about my life, I doubt I can live up to such a standard.
But, upon deeper reflection, the story is less about what we would do and more about what God does. These are parables meant to instruct us on the nature of God. And as we consider the text more closely, we realize that Jesus does not intend for us to align ourselves with the one who does the seeking but as the one being sought out! Recognizing that more than likely, we would not seek out what is lost, our attention turns to what has been lost and in what is lost we begin to see our own story. We are not the Pharisees, whom Jesus questions, but the lost sheep, the lost coin, or the lost son.
Who amongst us has not felt left behind or misplaced or discarded at some moment or another by those in whom we placed our trust. Oh, this feeling can come in so many ways – the unexpected news that we have been downsized; the breakdown of a marriage and impact that has on family members; the death of one dearly loved; or more to the point of the parable, when we have done something that we dearly regret that has isolated us from others. So many situations may leave us feeling abandoned or unimportant. More than once I have felt like a “write-off.” I expect this is true for others as well. We are the lost sheep, the lost coin.
The Good News is that God relentlessly pursues that one sheep in a hundred, that one in coin in ten, that penny under the car, that misplaced trinket, that forlorn lonely one, and yes, even and especially, the sinner. There is not one that is not precious in sight. We deal not with a distant, aloof God, but with one who, in the person of Jesus Christ, chose to walk amongst us through the uncertainty of life and seek us out when hearts are broken and mistakes are made. A lost coin, a lost sheep, a lost soul, these are all precious in his sight. God longs deeply and everlastingly to enfold each and every one of us in the embrace of divine love.
This is a love that brings about reconciliation in the midst of conflict, comfort in the midst of loss, and healing in the midst of brokenness. It is a love offered unto death and yet is more powerful than death, for it is a love that broke the chains of death in the Resurrection of our Lord. It is a love that scours creation for what is lost and restores it to glory. There is no coin of so small a denomination that it matters not to the Lord. There is no sinner with so great a sin that God’s love cannot redeem. The lamp of God shines into the darkest corners and finds us shedding rays of hope and love.
Thus in moments when we feel most alone, fear not, for there are no “write-offs” in the Kingdom of God.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Can't Get No Satisfaction? - A Homily for Proper 17, Year C, 2010
Homily for Proper 17, Year C, 2010
Sunday, July 25th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Colossians 2:6-19
“Continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”
--Colossians 2:6-7
There is an old country and western song that my grandfather used to sing that went a little something like this:
How many times have you heard someone say:
if I had his money,
I’d do thing my way.
But little do they know,
it’s so hard to find,
one rich man in ten,
with a satisfied mind.
This old song has stuck with me over the years, perhaps because I have so often identified with its sentiment; and if its not about having more money, its about leading a different life, following a different path, about living somewhere else, or being someone else. If rock and roll is more to your taste, perhaps the Rolling Stones said it well, “I can’t get no satisfaction.” How hard it is to be satisfied with who we are and the life we have. I suppose that we all long for something new or different because the journey we make in this life is not always an easy one. Truly, there are moments that can be unbearable.
But there is also joy.
Today marks the completion of three wonderful years for me here at Holy Trinity, and it has been my privilege to journey with so many of you through the changes and chances of this life, and I have certainly journeyed with many of you through very difficult moments. To take one area of parish life, my time here has been marked with more funerals than I would have ever expected. What a privilege it continues to be to journey with you in such intimate moment, but oh, the pain that has been experienced and shared on the journey. In such moments in which we lose those nearest and dearest to us, is it not natural that we should wish to be anywhere other than where we are?
There are so many other painful journeys that I have witnessed. As a community and as individuals we all face the pain and fear of transition, whether it be lost jobs, unexpected illnesses, expected and unexpected deaths, or the moving away of dearly beloved friends, sometimes it can all be a bit too much to take. Our gaze may be distracted for a moment by others for whom the world and their life in it are going so well that we might wish, for a moment at least, that we had their life and their place in the world, instead of our own. It can be awfully difficult to be satisfied with our own lot when we see others doing so well and living in such abundant happiness. It is the age-old question, “why me?”
The truth is, that our lives are all punctuated with moments of joy and moments of sorrow, moments of hope and moments of regret. As a priest in this place what a wonderful privilege it is to be invited into all sorts of moments and all types of joys and sorrows. I constantly remind myself of this privilege and give thanks to God for it, and for each of you.
In nearly all of Paul’s letters (he did have the occasional angry slip), he began by giving thanks to God for the people he had been called to serve. We often gloss over these words of thanksgiving, and what a shame that is. Paul’s joy and thanksgiving for his people suggests something profound about the Christian life, because Paul had cause more than any to wish for another lot in life, and to be fair, he did sometimes express a wish to be done with the hardships of this life. On at least one occasion, he stated that he longed to depart this life, to be rid of its afflictions, and to be with Christ. Paul tells us that he lived with a “thorn in his flesh” – code for some kind of physical disability. Paul, who has been held in such esteem by generations of Christians, was really an ordinary sort of fellow, who knew something of pain and loss, who was prone to lose his temper, and wrestled with his own faith, as the inconsistencies of his thought often reveal. Yet, amidst his own brokenness and ever so fragile humanity, he was sure of something: Paul was confident that in the midst of all life’s mess, his life and hope was founded on Christ. He believed this about his own life and he believed it about the lives of those he loved and served, and this was the source of his joy and thanksgiving.
A life and hope founded on Christ. How hard for us this is to believe when we face the troubles of this life. During troubled times, when we are most dissatisfied indeed with what life has thrown at us, it is much easier to long to be somewhere else and pray for a different life. How normal this is, and how perfectly human it is. Yet, in all my journeys with people through their brokenness and grief, how consistently have I seen the light of Christ shine brightly into their lives and warm their failing hearts! When we would expect to see all hope disappear that is when hope reveals itself. This is when Christ is known amongst the people of God. I know, for I have seen it time and again, and like Paul, I give thanks to God for it.
In the middle of our longing to be somewhere else, God, in Christ Jesus, longs to be with us. When we turn to run away, God turns and runs toward us. When we run to the darkest room to hide, the door opens and our Lord unexpectedly appears. Where there is a tomb, instead we find verdant pastures green where life springs forth eternally. In deepest darkness a light chooses to shine and cast away the darkness.
In the entirety of Paul’s writings, suffering and joy are always mingled together. There is nowhere else to be other than where we are, for when we are in Christ, Christ is never “somewhere else,” but always and ever “here” with us.
To this end Paul reminds us, “to continue our lives in him, rooted and built up in him, established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.” Paul can say this because God roots himself in us in Christ Jesus. The Christian God, our Christ, is not one that is distant or far away, but one that dwells amongst us, rooting himself in humanity itself, building up the lives of his people, and establishing himself in our hearts. Can we be other than thankful for this grace and love?
This grace and love does not make the mess of life go away, but rather gives us a friend and a hope when the mess seems so lonely and hopeless. Furthermore, that grace and love is a sign of the grace and love that is yet to be known in the fullness of God’s kingdom – but that is for later. For now, we are not without that grace and love, and amidst the toils and snares of this life, that’s all the satisfaction any of us need. Would we wish for anything else?
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
(the song satisfied mind was written by Jack Rhodes and Joe Hayes)
Sunday, July 25th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Colossians 2:6-19
“Continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”
--Colossians 2:6-7
There is an old country and western song that my grandfather used to sing that went a little something like this:
How many times have you heard someone say:
if I had his money,
I’d do thing my way.
But little do they know,
it’s so hard to find,
one rich man in ten,
with a satisfied mind.
This old song has stuck with me over the years, perhaps because I have so often identified with its sentiment; and if its not about having more money, its about leading a different life, following a different path, about living somewhere else, or being someone else. If rock and roll is more to your taste, perhaps the Rolling Stones said it well, “I can’t get no satisfaction.” How hard it is to be satisfied with who we are and the life we have. I suppose that we all long for something new or different because the journey we make in this life is not always an easy one. Truly, there are moments that can be unbearable.
But there is also joy.
Today marks the completion of three wonderful years for me here at Holy Trinity, and it has been my privilege to journey with so many of you through the changes and chances of this life, and I have certainly journeyed with many of you through very difficult moments. To take one area of parish life, my time here has been marked with more funerals than I would have ever expected. What a privilege it continues to be to journey with you in such intimate moment, but oh, the pain that has been experienced and shared on the journey. In such moments in which we lose those nearest and dearest to us, is it not natural that we should wish to be anywhere other than where we are?
There are so many other painful journeys that I have witnessed. As a community and as individuals we all face the pain and fear of transition, whether it be lost jobs, unexpected illnesses, expected and unexpected deaths, or the moving away of dearly beloved friends, sometimes it can all be a bit too much to take. Our gaze may be distracted for a moment by others for whom the world and their life in it are going so well that we might wish, for a moment at least, that we had their life and their place in the world, instead of our own. It can be awfully difficult to be satisfied with our own lot when we see others doing so well and living in such abundant happiness. It is the age-old question, “why me?”
The truth is, that our lives are all punctuated with moments of joy and moments of sorrow, moments of hope and moments of regret. As a priest in this place what a wonderful privilege it is to be invited into all sorts of moments and all types of joys and sorrows. I constantly remind myself of this privilege and give thanks to God for it, and for each of you.
In nearly all of Paul’s letters (he did have the occasional angry slip), he began by giving thanks to God for the people he had been called to serve. We often gloss over these words of thanksgiving, and what a shame that is. Paul’s joy and thanksgiving for his people suggests something profound about the Christian life, because Paul had cause more than any to wish for another lot in life, and to be fair, he did sometimes express a wish to be done with the hardships of this life. On at least one occasion, he stated that he longed to depart this life, to be rid of its afflictions, and to be with Christ. Paul tells us that he lived with a “thorn in his flesh” – code for some kind of physical disability. Paul, who has been held in such esteem by generations of Christians, was really an ordinary sort of fellow, who knew something of pain and loss, who was prone to lose his temper, and wrestled with his own faith, as the inconsistencies of his thought often reveal. Yet, amidst his own brokenness and ever so fragile humanity, he was sure of something: Paul was confident that in the midst of all life’s mess, his life and hope was founded on Christ. He believed this about his own life and he believed it about the lives of those he loved and served, and this was the source of his joy and thanksgiving.
A life and hope founded on Christ. How hard for us this is to believe when we face the troubles of this life. During troubled times, when we are most dissatisfied indeed with what life has thrown at us, it is much easier to long to be somewhere else and pray for a different life. How normal this is, and how perfectly human it is. Yet, in all my journeys with people through their brokenness and grief, how consistently have I seen the light of Christ shine brightly into their lives and warm their failing hearts! When we would expect to see all hope disappear that is when hope reveals itself. This is when Christ is known amongst the people of God. I know, for I have seen it time and again, and like Paul, I give thanks to God for it.
In the middle of our longing to be somewhere else, God, in Christ Jesus, longs to be with us. When we turn to run away, God turns and runs toward us. When we run to the darkest room to hide, the door opens and our Lord unexpectedly appears. Where there is a tomb, instead we find verdant pastures green where life springs forth eternally. In deepest darkness a light chooses to shine and cast away the darkness.
In the entirety of Paul’s writings, suffering and joy are always mingled together. There is nowhere else to be other than where we are, for when we are in Christ, Christ is never “somewhere else,” but always and ever “here” with us.
To this end Paul reminds us, “to continue our lives in him, rooted and built up in him, established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.” Paul can say this because God roots himself in us in Christ Jesus. The Christian God, our Christ, is not one that is distant or far away, but one that dwells amongst us, rooting himself in humanity itself, building up the lives of his people, and establishing himself in our hearts. Can we be other than thankful for this grace and love?
This grace and love does not make the mess of life go away, but rather gives us a friend and a hope when the mess seems so lonely and hopeless. Furthermore, that grace and love is a sign of the grace and love that is yet to be known in the fullness of God’s kingdom – but that is for later. For now, we are not without that grace and love, and amidst the toils and snares of this life, that’s all the satisfaction any of us need. Would we wish for anything else?
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
(the song satisfied mind was written by Jack Rhodes and Joe Hayes)
Sunday, July 18, 2010
In Him All Things Hold Together - A Homily for Proper 16, Year C, 2010
Homily for Proper 16, Year C, 2010
Sunday, July 18th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Colossians 2:15-28
“…and in him, all things hold together.”
--Col. 2:17
During times of transition and change, we may be apt to feel that things can so easily spin out of control. As we move from a well-established reality into a place of uncertainty, we may feel a certain anxiety about the future. We may at once ask questions like, will all we hold dear be respected by those who follow? At the same time, we might wonder if those who follow will have the courage to chart a new and necessary course for the future? Will I be able to be a part of that future? These and many other uncertainties fill our heads and our hearts and we wonder, wonder, wonder.
To feel anxiety about the unknown is, of course, to be human. Thus, through a time of transition we need to be gentle with each other, as anxiety is known to fuel tension, and tension to fuel conflict. We need to bear each other with love and patience as we journey through the uncertain waters of change.
Each of us will find ourselves at different places on this vast sea of transition. There will be some who will stand before the waters and say, I’m not very good at swimming and I’m not sure that I trust that boat – I think I’ll drive around the lake. There will be others that will not have even noticed the boat and have jumped in and started their marathon swim to the other side. There will be still others who climb aboard the sailing vessel on the sea of change and as the wind fills the sails, revel in the breeze that blows in their face. And perhaps as storms brew on that lake there will be some who take charge and steer it through tempestuous waters. Likewise, there will be others that prefer to take refuge in the safety of the hold. On the sea of transition there will be many and various ways of making the voyage, and I remind you all, to be gentle with each other and honour the way each person makes the journey.
In the diversity of ways in which we make that journey across an uncertain sea, it may seem to us that the community slips apart, loses its focus and cohesion, as each person takes up that journey in their own way. This may produce a further anxiety - that the whole world is falling apart. Let us remember that our community will not be the first to make such a journey; countless are the numbers that have gone before us.
Moses led the Hebrew people out of Egypt to a promised land. The journey was not easy, and there was much anxiety, and much struggle. Centuries later the same people sojourned many years in exile before they returned home, and there was much anxiety, and much struggle. And through the ages people have journied and people have struggled with the anxiety that the journey of change brings. One hundred and eighty years ago some faithful Christians built a little white church on a hill, and God only knows the struggles and anxieties they had that are now forgotten to us. Sixty years ago, descendents of those faithful people picked up their church, board by board, in the midst of much struggle and anxiety, and replanted their holy place here on this soil.
So yes, we are part of a long line of sojourners who have journeyed through anxiety and fear. We look about us today, and see very few young people in our midst. We look about our community and see some very dramatic demographic shifts that have occurred in the last twenty years. We wonder and ponder if the next priest who comes will be able to lead us into the Promised Land where anxiety and fear and struggle will be no more. But if we are to learn anything from our ancestors, it is that anxiety and struggle are but a part of our earthly journey, and that the sea of transition, while we may have moments of rest on the shore, is part of the world in which we inhabit. So then, if anxiety, struggle, transition and change are all part and parcel of this life, what hope do we have?
There is another journey that has been made.
It is a journey that was filled with more anxiety and struggle than any journey of any people in any time or age. It is the journey that begins in a stable in Bethlehem, that reaches its dramatic intensity in the halls of a Roman governor and an unjust trial, that climaxes in a brutal execution on hill far away, and finds its dramatic resolution in a empty garden tomb, a risen man, an ascended and glorified Lord.
That journey gives shape to all the journeys we take in this earthly pilgrimage. As the people of God may seem to be going off in every direction, we are reminded by Paul, that “Christ is the head of the church; he is the beginning, the first born from the dead.” He is our captain on the journey and “he holds all things together.” Thus, we need not fear the anxiety and struggle of the journey, for our captain is in control. He rules the waves and the winds, and he shall bear his people across stormy waters whether they swim, whether they sail, or whether they drive around the sea; he shall bear them up.
He has journeyed with us through our deepest uncertainty and in our deepest anxiety, namely the grave and beyond, shall the earthly journeys that lie ahead be too much for him to captain? I think not. Therefore, I say to you this day, let him lead you. The one who has led you this far will not abandon or forsake you on your way. As he led a people long ago to a promised land, and as he has led countless Christians, and in particular, the ancestors of this place, so he leads us again. Do you see him at the helm? He is there, and in him the fullness of God dwells in our midst. Under his banner we go forward and he will ensure that we shall indeed continue, “securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that we have heard.”
c. the Rev. Daniel F. Graves, 2010
Sunday, July 18th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Colossians 2:15-28
“…and in him, all things hold together.”
--Col. 2:17
During times of transition and change, we may be apt to feel that things can so easily spin out of control. As we move from a well-established reality into a place of uncertainty, we may feel a certain anxiety about the future. We may at once ask questions like, will all we hold dear be respected by those who follow? At the same time, we might wonder if those who follow will have the courage to chart a new and necessary course for the future? Will I be able to be a part of that future? These and many other uncertainties fill our heads and our hearts and we wonder, wonder, wonder.
To feel anxiety about the unknown is, of course, to be human. Thus, through a time of transition we need to be gentle with each other, as anxiety is known to fuel tension, and tension to fuel conflict. We need to bear each other with love and patience as we journey through the uncertain waters of change.
Each of us will find ourselves at different places on this vast sea of transition. There will be some who will stand before the waters and say, I’m not very good at swimming and I’m not sure that I trust that boat – I think I’ll drive around the lake. There will be others that will not have even noticed the boat and have jumped in and started their marathon swim to the other side. There will be still others who climb aboard the sailing vessel on the sea of change and as the wind fills the sails, revel in the breeze that blows in their face. And perhaps as storms brew on that lake there will be some who take charge and steer it through tempestuous waters. Likewise, there will be others that prefer to take refuge in the safety of the hold. On the sea of transition there will be many and various ways of making the voyage, and I remind you all, to be gentle with each other and honour the way each person makes the journey.
In the diversity of ways in which we make that journey across an uncertain sea, it may seem to us that the community slips apart, loses its focus and cohesion, as each person takes up that journey in their own way. This may produce a further anxiety - that the whole world is falling apart. Let us remember that our community will not be the first to make such a journey; countless are the numbers that have gone before us.
Moses led the Hebrew people out of Egypt to a promised land. The journey was not easy, and there was much anxiety, and much struggle. Centuries later the same people sojourned many years in exile before they returned home, and there was much anxiety, and much struggle. And through the ages people have journied and people have struggled with the anxiety that the journey of change brings. One hundred and eighty years ago some faithful Christians built a little white church on a hill, and God only knows the struggles and anxieties they had that are now forgotten to us. Sixty years ago, descendents of those faithful people picked up their church, board by board, in the midst of much struggle and anxiety, and replanted their holy place here on this soil.
So yes, we are part of a long line of sojourners who have journeyed through anxiety and fear. We look about us today, and see very few young people in our midst. We look about our community and see some very dramatic demographic shifts that have occurred in the last twenty years. We wonder and ponder if the next priest who comes will be able to lead us into the Promised Land where anxiety and fear and struggle will be no more. But if we are to learn anything from our ancestors, it is that anxiety and struggle are but a part of our earthly journey, and that the sea of transition, while we may have moments of rest on the shore, is part of the world in which we inhabit. So then, if anxiety, struggle, transition and change are all part and parcel of this life, what hope do we have?
There is another journey that has been made.
It is a journey that was filled with more anxiety and struggle than any journey of any people in any time or age. It is the journey that begins in a stable in Bethlehem, that reaches its dramatic intensity in the halls of a Roman governor and an unjust trial, that climaxes in a brutal execution on hill far away, and finds its dramatic resolution in a empty garden tomb, a risen man, an ascended and glorified Lord.
That journey gives shape to all the journeys we take in this earthly pilgrimage. As the people of God may seem to be going off in every direction, we are reminded by Paul, that “Christ is the head of the church; he is the beginning, the first born from the dead.” He is our captain on the journey and “he holds all things together.” Thus, we need not fear the anxiety and struggle of the journey, for our captain is in control. He rules the waves and the winds, and he shall bear his people across stormy waters whether they swim, whether they sail, or whether they drive around the sea; he shall bear them up.
He has journeyed with us through our deepest uncertainty and in our deepest anxiety, namely the grave and beyond, shall the earthly journeys that lie ahead be too much for him to captain? I think not. Therefore, I say to you this day, let him lead you. The one who has led you this far will not abandon or forsake you on your way. As he led a people long ago to a promised land, and as he has led countless Christians, and in particular, the ancestors of this place, so he leads us again. Do you see him at the helm? He is there, and in him the fullness of God dwells in our midst. Under his banner we go forward and he will ensure that we shall indeed continue, “securely established and steadfast in the faith, without shifting from the hope promised by the gospel that we have heard.”
c. the Rev. Daniel F. Graves, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Bear One Another's Burdens - A Homily for Proper 14, Year C, 2010
Homily for Proper 14, Year C, 2010
Sunday, July 4th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Galatians 6:1-16
“Bear one another’s burdens and this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”--Galatians 6:2
The Galatian community was one that was torn apart by a religious conflict. Paul had proclaimed to them a gospel of freedom, a gospel that did not entail keeping the Law of Moses. It came as a great surprise to him therefore that after his departure, certain teachers began instructing the Galatians that they needed to conform to Jewish Law in order to be fully Christian. It is likely that this community was originally a gentile community who had not previously kept the commandments of the Torah. What infuriated Paul so much was that he had proclaimed a Gospel of freedom, only to find that it was being replaced by the burden of further religious requirements. How could the people of that community so quickly abandon the freedom they found in the gospel he preached? In the end, Paul does not care so much about whether or not taking on the requirements of Torah is a good or bad thing, for in many ways, he suggests that it is a matter indifferent, for “neither circumcision nor uncircumcision are anything,” he declares, “but a new creation is everything!” Rather, he was deeply concerned to the point of anger because the new creation was being obscured with absolutist claims by the judaizing faction about what were actually non-essential conditions for receiving the gospel of Christ.
This first century argument is, at first glance, far removed from us today. It is unlikely that any of us shall ever consider the keeping of the Jewish law as a prerequisite for Christian faith. Yet, if we consider more generally the problem that Paul was addressing, we realize that it is not so far from our door. Paul was speaking about the burdens we place upon ourselves in order that we might live out our faith. He is speaking about self-imposed prerequisites to Christianity that obscure its purpose rather than fulfill it. Such prerequisites are characteristically manifested in ethical terms, such as “I need to be a better person to follow Jesus,” or framed negatively, “I musn’t be a good Christian because I am having trouble loving my enemy, much less my neighbour.” These formulations come at things in entirely the wrong way. Of course, I hate my neighbour, they never cut their grass and their dandelions seed on my lawn. I hate them every time I look out my window at that mess of a yard of theirs! If loving your neighbour, much less your enemy, were a prerequisite to being a Christian we would have no Christians in the world, or at least no honest Christians. But thankfully, the gospel of Christ is not about what I can do for Christ, but what Christ does for me, and more profoundly, what Christ does for us as a people, and for the world.
And what does Christ do?
He lifts the burden that the world places upon us and the burdens that we place upon each other and ourselves. This was the problem in Galatia: not only were new teachers placing new burdens upon the Church of Galatia, but the Galatians were happily taking on these new burdens! Ah, ever it is so in the Church. There is always more work to be done, more committees on which to volunteer, more burdens we can carry as individuals and as a church. Oh, the temptation of it all, and we are so sure it will make us better Christians. And yet, when all is said and done, we are anything but a new creation. We emerge tired, exhausted, angry and cynical. The question we must stop to ask, though, is “is this what Christ wants of me.” For Paul, the answer is an emphatic “no!” What Christ wants is to lift that burden from our shoulders, that he might raise us up to a new and better way of being, to a place where his service is perfect freedom.
At Holy Trinity, as we journey into this new time, awaiting the arrival of a new rector, the uncertainty of the future can be a burden, but it need not be so if we listen to Paul and allow our Lord to take that burden upon himself. One can feel the anxiety as we enter this new time, and yet, how that anxiety lifts when we let God carry the burden. As we let go of the burden, it then remarkable to look around our community and recognize that no single one of us needs to carry the burden of the future. We look around our community and we recognize that God has imparted all the gifts necessary in the Church for the facing of these days! What is a burden to the one may be the joy of another. By letting Christ bear our burdens he enlivens a holy vocation amongst his people, for in the body of Christ we share in the work of bearing one another’s burdens. Instead of taking on a greater load as individuals, as the community, as the body of Christ, we look upon those who cannot stand under the weight and we shoulder it with them. In such a manner, the load, the burden dissipates and Christ is made known amongst his people.
The burdens we carry as human beings are unbearable on our own. Whether it is the burden of caring for a spouse, child, or parent who is sick, or if it is the burden of mistakes we have made or wrongs we have done, we wilt under the weight of such things -- things put upon us, and things brought upon us through our own sinfulness. And then there is the weight of change and all the uncertainty it brings. Ultimately the day will come when we stand in front of our judge, as Paul says, “carrying our load.” I know that if I am to be judged by how well I carry that load, I will not be counted worthy of the task. But as Christian people, another hope, another reality, is set before us. It is a heavenly reality. It is the reality of the Kingdom of God in which my load is not mine to bear alone, for it is Christ who bears it for me and with me. Christ lifts the load of the weight that the world sets upon me, and lifts the load of the weight of my own failings, my own regret, and my own sinfulness and carries it to the cross where that weight is crucified and buried. As a stone is rolled in front of that tomb where that terrible weight is laid to rest, so also a stone is rolled away, and from that tomb emerges a new creation. The new creation that emerges is the body of Christ, the faithful of the Church who embody the freeing work of Christ in their common ethic of bearing each other’s burdens. When the weight becomes too much for the one, it is crucified and buried, as the community, the body of Christ, takes that weight upon itself in selfless love. We do not need to bear the weight alone, for Christ is ever with us in the gathering of his faithful people, and ever drawing us together that we might not only bear each other’s burdens but bear one another, in Christ-like love.
C. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, July 4th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Galatians 6:1-16
“Bear one another’s burdens and this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”--Galatians 6:2
The Galatian community was one that was torn apart by a religious conflict. Paul had proclaimed to them a gospel of freedom, a gospel that did not entail keeping the Law of Moses. It came as a great surprise to him therefore that after his departure, certain teachers began instructing the Galatians that they needed to conform to Jewish Law in order to be fully Christian. It is likely that this community was originally a gentile community who had not previously kept the commandments of the Torah. What infuriated Paul so much was that he had proclaimed a Gospel of freedom, only to find that it was being replaced by the burden of further religious requirements. How could the people of that community so quickly abandon the freedom they found in the gospel he preached? In the end, Paul does not care so much about whether or not taking on the requirements of Torah is a good or bad thing, for in many ways, he suggests that it is a matter indifferent, for “neither circumcision nor uncircumcision are anything,” he declares, “but a new creation is everything!” Rather, he was deeply concerned to the point of anger because the new creation was being obscured with absolutist claims by the judaizing faction about what were actually non-essential conditions for receiving the gospel of Christ.
This first century argument is, at first glance, far removed from us today. It is unlikely that any of us shall ever consider the keeping of the Jewish law as a prerequisite for Christian faith. Yet, if we consider more generally the problem that Paul was addressing, we realize that it is not so far from our door. Paul was speaking about the burdens we place upon ourselves in order that we might live out our faith. He is speaking about self-imposed prerequisites to Christianity that obscure its purpose rather than fulfill it. Such prerequisites are characteristically manifested in ethical terms, such as “I need to be a better person to follow Jesus,” or framed negatively, “I musn’t be a good Christian because I am having trouble loving my enemy, much less my neighbour.” These formulations come at things in entirely the wrong way. Of course, I hate my neighbour, they never cut their grass and their dandelions seed on my lawn. I hate them every time I look out my window at that mess of a yard of theirs! If loving your neighbour, much less your enemy, were a prerequisite to being a Christian we would have no Christians in the world, or at least no honest Christians. But thankfully, the gospel of Christ is not about what I can do for Christ, but what Christ does for me, and more profoundly, what Christ does for us as a people, and for the world.
And what does Christ do?
He lifts the burden that the world places upon us and the burdens that we place upon each other and ourselves. This was the problem in Galatia: not only were new teachers placing new burdens upon the Church of Galatia, but the Galatians were happily taking on these new burdens! Ah, ever it is so in the Church. There is always more work to be done, more committees on which to volunteer, more burdens we can carry as individuals and as a church. Oh, the temptation of it all, and we are so sure it will make us better Christians. And yet, when all is said and done, we are anything but a new creation. We emerge tired, exhausted, angry and cynical. The question we must stop to ask, though, is “is this what Christ wants of me.” For Paul, the answer is an emphatic “no!” What Christ wants is to lift that burden from our shoulders, that he might raise us up to a new and better way of being, to a place where his service is perfect freedom.
At Holy Trinity, as we journey into this new time, awaiting the arrival of a new rector, the uncertainty of the future can be a burden, but it need not be so if we listen to Paul and allow our Lord to take that burden upon himself. One can feel the anxiety as we enter this new time, and yet, how that anxiety lifts when we let God carry the burden. As we let go of the burden, it then remarkable to look around our community and recognize that no single one of us needs to carry the burden of the future. We look around our community and we recognize that God has imparted all the gifts necessary in the Church for the facing of these days! What is a burden to the one may be the joy of another. By letting Christ bear our burdens he enlivens a holy vocation amongst his people, for in the body of Christ we share in the work of bearing one another’s burdens. Instead of taking on a greater load as individuals, as the community, as the body of Christ, we look upon those who cannot stand under the weight and we shoulder it with them. In such a manner, the load, the burden dissipates and Christ is made known amongst his people.
The burdens we carry as human beings are unbearable on our own. Whether it is the burden of caring for a spouse, child, or parent who is sick, or if it is the burden of mistakes we have made or wrongs we have done, we wilt under the weight of such things -- things put upon us, and things brought upon us through our own sinfulness. And then there is the weight of change and all the uncertainty it brings. Ultimately the day will come when we stand in front of our judge, as Paul says, “carrying our load.” I know that if I am to be judged by how well I carry that load, I will not be counted worthy of the task. But as Christian people, another hope, another reality, is set before us. It is a heavenly reality. It is the reality of the Kingdom of God in which my load is not mine to bear alone, for it is Christ who bears it for me and with me. Christ lifts the load of the weight that the world sets upon me, and lifts the load of the weight of my own failings, my own regret, and my own sinfulness and carries it to the cross where that weight is crucified and buried. As a stone is rolled in front of that tomb where that terrible weight is laid to rest, so also a stone is rolled away, and from that tomb emerges a new creation. The new creation that emerges is the body of Christ, the faithful of the Church who embody the freeing work of Christ in their common ethic of bearing each other’s burdens. When the weight becomes too much for the one, it is crucified and buried, as the community, the body of Christ, takes that weight upon itself in selfless love. We do not need to bear the weight alone, for Christ is ever with us in the gathering of his faithful people, and ever drawing us together that we might not only bear each other’s burdens but bear one another, in Christ-like love.
C. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Who am I that I Could Hinder God? - A Homily for Easter 5, Year C, 2010
Homily for Easter 5, Year C, 2010
Sunday, May 2nd, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Acts 11:1-18
“Who was I that I could hinder God?”
--Acts 11:17
Peter had some explaining to do. When he returned to Jerusalem from his journey amongst the gentiles, word spread quickly that he had baptized some of them. The leaders of the early Church in Jerusalem were scandalized. The Church, to that point, had been made up of Jews who had followed Jesus, yet had continued to keep the laws of the Torah. Thus, when Peter returned to the Holy City, he was not met with open arms, but with bewilderment, consternation, and anger. He had violated the Law of God, by not ensuring that the new Christians he had baptized were first circumcised according to the Law of Moses.
Peter had some explaining to do. He told the Jerusalem brethren that while he was staying in the city of Joppa, in a trance or dream, God gave him a vision in which he was commanded by God to kill and eat all manner of unclean animals. These would have been animals that the Law of Moses prohibited men from eating. This dream or vision would have been more akin to a nightmare for Peter, for it was asking him to forsake the laws and traditions of his fathers; indeed, it was commanding him to act in a manner contrary to sacred Scripture. He pleaded with God, “By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” The vision was repeated two more times until he was awoken from the vision by three men from Caesarea (who were gentiles) who asked him to come with them to certain house. When they arrived, they were met by a man who also had a vision. In his vision, an angel told him to send for Peter and that Peter had a message for him that would tell him how to be saved. Peter must have been dumbfounded, for there was only one message that Peter had to share as he travelled about. His message; that Christ Jesus, whom God raised from the dead, gives forgiveness and life to all who believe in him.
Peter stood there, before these gentiles; people who begged him to share God’s message with them. When Peter received his vision he had just finished preaching that God shows no partiality, but did he really believe it. Did he believe it enough to put away the Law of Moses? Did he believe it enough to let it challenge his entire understanding of his religion and faith? Did he believe it enough to let it change the Church? And as he pondered these things, and as he began to share his message, the message of Christ raised from the dead, the Holy Spirit fell upon that house. Then he realized that God truly shows no partiality and that God is ever and always doing a new thing.
Thus, Peter returned to Jerusalem with some explaining to do. But was he afraid? He was not. For as he unfolded this tale of radical inclusion in the kingdom of God he offered this word of wisdom to his brethren back home, “If then, God gave them (that is, the gentiles) the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” Indeed, who are we that we can hinder God? To this, the brethren in Jerusalem responded, “Then God has given to the gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”
In Peter’s openness to being changed, God did a new thing. God forever changed the Church. However, the reality is this: God would have changed the Church with or without Peter. Peter had a choice to be part of God’s plan, and he took it up. Wisely, the brethren in Jerusalem saw the wisdom in Peter’s decision and joined him in faith and journeyed into the unknown.
Baptism is always a time of journeying into the unknown because that is what a leap of faith is about, is it not? We have tasted the Spirit of God working in our lives. That is why we come to be baptized, and why we bring our children to baptism, because we know that the Spirit of God is alive and working with a reconciling love that transforms us and transforms the world. In baptism we say “yes” to being a part of that plan, but in doing so we take a risk, because we do not know what that “yes” will mean for us. We do not know where it will lead us or what will be asked of us, we know only this, that God will forever be with us, wherever we go and whatever we do. Our trust is in the fact that God is doing a new thing as each new Christian is baptized.
That risk is felt not only as we begin our faith in the baptismal journey, it is felt again and again as we journey through our lives as Christian people. This certainly was Peter’s experience. Peter and the rest of the Jerusalem disciples thought they understood the faith. They thought they understood what God was asking of them. They thought the Church they knew was the Church that would always be. Ah, but God was doing a new thing!
This is at once the most frightening and the most exciting thing about the Christian faith, God is always doing a new thing. It is frightening because the world we have grown to love will not always be the world it once was. It is frightening because the Church is called to change and grow with each generation and it will not always be the Church we have come to know and love. It is frightening because the things we once thought unclean, have been made clean by God. It is frightening because the person I am today is not the person I will be tomorrow.
But! It is exciting and hopeful because God is doing a new thing! It is exciting and hopeful because the world we have grown to fear will give way to a new and glorious day! It is exciting and hopeful, because the Church that has excluded and hurt others by its unwillingness to embrace and change and hear the prophetic voice of God will come to hear that voice and be transformed! It is exciting and hopeful because we now learn, like Peter, that things (and people) we once thought unclean have been sanctified by God as good and holy! It is exciting and hopeful because the person I am today is not the person I will be tomorrow.
And this is why I have hope for the world, and for the Church, even in the midst of so much uncertainty, and yes, so much conflict.
I have hope for the world today because as I look out at four new Christians, babes in arm now, but ever and always children of the living God, I am not afraid, for I see God doing a new thing.
I have hope as I look about this worldwide Anglican Church, and all its conflicts over whether or not we should bless same-gender unions or ordain women as bishops. I am not afraid, because I see God doing a new thing.
I have hope as I look to this very community here, with so much change, and yes much grieving over the losses we are facing and will face in the not-too-distant future. I am not afraid, because I see God doing a new thing.
Peter had some explaining to do, and he explained it very well saying, “God is doing a new thing, who am I that I could hinder it?”
Who are we indeed, if we think to hinder the work of God; it is but for us to join in, with these new Christians and their sponsors when asked if we shall follow him into the great unknown of the future, with a resounding “yes” and the proclamation, “I will, with God’s help.”
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, May 2nd, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Acts 11:1-18
“Who was I that I could hinder God?”
--Acts 11:17
Peter had some explaining to do. When he returned to Jerusalem from his journey amongst the gentiles, word spread quickly that he had baptized some of them. The leaders of the early Church in Jerusalem were scandalized. The Church, to that point, had been made up of Jews who had followed Jesus, yet had continued to keep the laws of the Torah. Thus, when Peter returned to the Holy City, he was not met with open arms, but with bewilderment, consternation, and anger. He had violated the Law of God, by not ensuring that the new Christians he had baptized were first circumcised according to the Law of Moses.
Peter had some explaining to do. He told the Jerusalem brethren that while he was staying in the city of Joppa, in a trance or dream, God gave him a vision in which he was commanded by God to kill and eat all manner of unclean animals. These would have been animals that the Law of Moses prohibited men from eating. This dream or vision would have been more akin to a nightmare for Peter, for it was asking him to forsake the laws and traditions of his fathers; indeed, it was commanding him to act in a manner contrary to sacred Scripture. He pleaded with God, “By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” The vision was repeated two more times until he was awoken from the vision by three men from Caesarea (who were gentiles) who asked him to come with them to certain house. When they arrived, they were met by a man who also had a vision. In his vision, an angel told him to send for Peter and that Peter had a message for him that would tell him how to be saved. Peter must have been dumbfounded, for there was only one message that Peter had to share as he travelled about. His message; that Christ Jesus, whom God raised from the dead, gives forgiveness and life to all who believe in him.
Peter stood there, before these gentiles; people who begged him to share God’s message with them. When Peter received his vision he had just finished preaching that God shows no partiality, but did he really believe it. Did he believe it enough to put away the Law of Moses? Did he believe it enough to let it challenge his entire understanding of his religion and faith? Did he believe it enough to let it change the Church? And as he pondered these things, and as he began to share his message, the message of Christ raised from the dead, the Holy Spirit fell upon that house. Then he realized that God truly shows no partiality and that God is ever and always doing a new thing.
Thus, Peter returned to Jerusalem with some explaining to do. But was he afraid? He was not. For as he unfolded this tale of radical inclusion in the kingdom of God he offered this word of wisdom to his brethren back home, “If then, God gave them (that is, the gentiles) the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” Indeed, who are we that we can hinder God? To this, the brethren in Jerusalem responded, “Then God has given to the gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”
In Peter’s openness to being changed, God did a new thing. God forever changed the Church. However, the reality is this: God would have changed the Church with or without Peter. Peter had a choice to be part of God’s plan, and he took it up. Wisely, the brethren in Jerusalem saw the wisdom in Peter’s decision and joined him in faith and journeyed into the unknown.
Baptism is always a time of journeying into the unknown because that is what a leap of faith is about, is it not? We have tasted the Spirit of God working in our lives. That is why we come to be baptized, and why we bring our children to baptism, because we know that the Spirit of God is alive and working with a reconciling love that transforms us and transforms the world. In baptism we say “yes” to being a part of that plan, but in doing so we take a risk, because we do not know what that “yes” will mean for us. We do not know where it will lead us or what will be asked of us, we know only this, that God will forever be with us, wherever we go and whatever we do. Our trust is in the fact that God is doing a new thing as each new Christian is baptized.
That risk is felt not only as we begin our faith in the baptismal journey, it is felt again and again as we journey through our lives as Christian people. This certainly was Peter’s experience. Peter and the rest of the Jerusalem disciples thought they understood the faith. They thought they understood what God was asking of them. They thought the Church they knew was the Church that would always be. Ah, but God was doing a new thing!
This is at once the most frightening and the most exciting thing about the Christian faith, God is always doing a new thing. It is frightening because the world we have grown to love will not always be the world it once was. It is frightening because the Church is called to change and grow with each generation and it will not always be the Church we have come to know and love. It is frightening because the things we once thought unclean, have been made clean by God. It is frightening because the person I am today is not the person I will be tomorrow.
But! It is exciting and hopeful because God is doing a new thing! It is exciting and hopeful because the world we have grown to fear will give way to a new and glorious day! It is exciting and hopeful, because the Church that has excluded and hurt others by its unwillingness to embrace and change and hear the prophetic voice of God will come to hear that voice and be transformed! It is exciting and hopeful because we now learn, like Peter, that things (and people) we once thought unclean have been sanctified by God as good and holy! It is exciting and hopeful because the person I am today is not the person I will be tomorrow.
And this is why I have hope for the world, and for the Church, even in the midst of so much uncertainty, and yes, so much conflict.
I have hope for the world today because as I look out at four new Christians, babes in arm now, but ever and always children of the living God, I am not afraid, for I see God doing a new thing.
I have hope as I look about this worldwide Anglican Church, and all its conflicts over whether or not we should bless same-gender unions or ordain women as bishops. I am not afraid, because I see God doing a new thing.
I have hope as I look to this very community here, with so much change, and yes much grieving over the losses we are facing and will face in the not-too-distant future. I am not afraid, because I see God doing a new thing.
Peter had some explaining to do, and he explained it very well saying, “God is doing a new thing, who am I that I could hinder it?”
Who are we indeed, if we think to hinder the work of God; it is but for us to join in, with these new Christians and their sponsors when asked if we shall follow him into the great unknown of the future, with a resounding “yes” and the proclamation, “I will, with God’s help.”
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Freedom and Limitation - the Way of Vocation: A Homily for Easter 3, Year C, 2010
Homily for Easter 3, Year C, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 21:1-19
“But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else with fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” – John 21:18
When we are young, we are under the illusion that maturity buys us our freedom. One only has to go through the process of raising a child, or holding down a job in order to pay the rent, or to look after an ailing and aging family member, or face the disappointment that money can’t always buy what you want, to know that maturity doesn’t always buy us freedom. As children we might think that adults have all the freedom in the world, but as adults, we might longingly look back upon our youth and remember the carefree days without the responsibilities that we unexpectedly took on as we entered adulthood. This is not to say that as mature, responsible adults that we are bereft of freedom; to the contrary, we have considerable freedom in making choices for our lives. The real mark of maturity, though, seems to be the recognition that freedom and limitation are forever yoked together in a delicate dance.
Parker Palmer, a writer and teacher of teachers, has written some insightful words on vocation and discernment. He notes that he grew up being told that anyone could grow up to become the president of the United States. Upon reaching adulthood and undergoing a long journey of vocational struggle and discernment , Palmer came to the realization that he had been taught a bit of a lie. While it might be true that a society should provide equal opportunity for all its citizens, not everyone has the gifts to live out every vocation. As such, it is not true that everyone has the potential to grow up to be president. Palmer said he wrestled with some time with the idea of ministry in the Church, until he heard from God that in no uncertain terms, was he to be an ordained cleric in God’s Church. I think all of us can relate that there are some things we can do well naturally, that there are some thing that we can learn to do well, and that there are others that we should probably never even try. The delicate balance is discerning what we are called to do, and what we are not called to do -- freedom and limitation in a delicate dance.
I suspect that the Apostle Peter never really saw himself as much more than a fisherman. I doubt that he wanted to be a leader; yet, Jesus saw something in him that challenged him to reframe his self-understanding. Somewhere along the way, Peter made the leap from fisherman to shepherd. Jesus awoke within Peter a discerning spirit and gave him the courage to see within himself his leadership potential. Jesus helped Peter to understand that he would have the gifts and strengths not only to herd his flock but also to push them forward into new and verdant pastures. He saw within Peter a strong leader that could push and encourage his sheep, but also, when needed, to gently tend and feed them. Jesus activated within Peter his gifts for leadership, and there on the seashore, gave him the courage to use them.
Peter still had his limitations, though. He was not the first one to recognize the Lord that morning. No. That honour belongs to the beloved disciple, that unnamed follower of Jesus who rested his head on Jesus at the last supper, who remained faithful at the foot of the cross, who was the first to believe in the resurrection when he saw the empty tomb. So, some time later, on that morning in boats on the sea of Tiberias, after fishing all night with Peter and the others, when the eyes of all others were clouded, the Beloved Disciple looked toward the seashore and recognized the risen Lord. This Beloved Disciple, himself a fisherman, was not destined to be the shepherd of Jesus’ people. No. Instead, he had the gift of insight, the gift to recognize and see the risen Lord in the most unlikely of places, and to share that story with others. If he is indeed the witness that stands behind the words of the Gospel of John, then he had a most remarkable gift indeed, for his words have continued to witness to the Risen Christ, and teach the faith for two thousand years. Jesus stirred within the Beloved Disciple the gifts he needed to live out his vocation.
Peter and the Beloved Disciple shared many of the same practical skills, and likely, they both came from a very similar upbringing and socio-economic class, practicing the same profession -- two men with similar skills, but different gifts; two men with the same Lord and master, but different callings.
Both were called. Both men responded to the words, “follow me.” But their answers of “yes” meant different paths for each of them. They had the freedom to say “yes” or “no” to the call, to continue on doing what they were doing, or to see where unlocking their gifts and following Jesus took them. Both responded with a “yes,” but their individual gifts would shape how they each live out the call in very different ways. Peter could no more be the thoughtful insightful witness that inspired belief in others, any more than the Beloved Disciple could be the shepherd of a people who required equal doses of gentleness and challenge. Each had their gifts and each had their calling.
In their final conversation, Jesus thrice encouraged Peter to care and tend for his flock. Peter was a bit hurt by Jesus’ repetition of this instruction, but it was only to encourage Peter (and to confirm his faith in his gifts of leadership) that Jesus pressed this message repeatedly upon him. Jesus then told Peter that leadership is not about being free, but being yoked. In youth we fasten our own belts, we do what we want, and we go where we want to go. In old age, we stretch out our arms and others dress us and take us where we do not want to go. This was a thinly veiled reference to Peter’s eventual martyrdom. Peter was given the leadership of Jesus’ followers. He would be called upon to make decisions, to arbitrate disputes, to have the final say. If we follow Matthew’s account, “what Peter bound on earth would be bound in heaven.” He was given the keys. That’s a lot of authority, and presumably a lot of freedom. And yet, Jesus’ sermon illustration was about his loss of freedom. With his new-found authority, Peter was bound to follow a new way, the way his own master exercised leadership, that is, the way of the cross -- freedom and limitation in a delicate dance.
Peter, ever the straight-shooting talker (perhaps, one of his traits of leadership) asked about the other disciple, the Beloved Disciple, “what about him, Lord?” Perhaps, like many leaders, Peter was worried about the competition. Jesus simply said, “Don’t worry about him. I have other plans for him.” It was like he was saying to each of them,” I know your gifts; now you two recognize them in each other and all will be well. Now just follow me.” And follow they did. Peter led the people until legend tells us he followed in his masters step’s to martyrdom in Rome. The Beloved Disciple lived to a very great age, outlived all the other disciples, and went on to teach and inspire others to teach the faith to some of the great Christian leaders of the second century. The Gospel of John is a timeless testament to his story of Jesus, and through it, he witnesses to the Risen Lord still, and teaches us today.
As with raising children, working in unexpected jobs, caring for aging parents, in all the strange twists and turns that life throws at us, we find within ourselves the gifts to live the life into which we are called. The question is not whether I can grow up to the President or Prime Minister; it is not whether I can be a CEO or teacher, a nurse or fisherman, it is how might I be faithful to the call in which I am truly free? To live into the call that God gives us, to follow him wherever he may lead us, is perfect freedom, but it closes other doors. There are doors through which we may wish to walk, or have hoped to have walked by any given benchmark in our lives. Perhaps, after all, there are doors better left unopened and road better left unwalked, for not every door is the door to the house into which I am called, and not every path is the path of my life. What is more to the point, is that from the boat on which we drift through the night, working away at whatever we do, the risen Lord calls from the seashore with the words, “follow me.” With him as our friend on the journey, we shall find the right doors through which our gifts will lead us, and right path on which our life and path will unfold.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 21:1-19
“But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else with fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” – John 21:18
When we are young, we are under the illusion that maturity buys us our freedom. One only has to go through the process of raising a child, or holding down a job in order to pay the rent, or to look after an ailing and aging family member, or face the disappointment that money can’t always buy what you want, to know that maturity doesn’t always buy us freedom. As children we might think that adults have all the freedom in the world, but as adults, we might longingly look back upon our youth and remember the carefree days without the responsibilities that we unexpectedly took on as we entered adulthood. This is not to say that as mature, responsible adults that we are bereft of freedom; to the contrary, we have considerable freedom in making choices for our lives. The real mark of maturity, though, seems to be the recognition that freedom and limitation are forever yoked together in a delicate dance.
Parker Palmer, a writer and teacher of teachers, has written some insightful words on vocation and discernment. He notes that he grew up being told that anyone could grow up to become the president of the United States. Upon reaching adulthood and undergoing a long journey of vocational struggle and discernment , Palmer came to the realization that he had been taught a bit of a lie. While it might be true that a society should provide equal opportunity for all its citizens, not everyone has the gifts to live out every vocation. As such, it is not true that everyone has the potential to grow up to be president. Palmer said he wrestled with some time with the idea of ministry in the Church, until he heard from God that in no uncertain terms, was he to be an ordained cleric in God’s Church. I think all of us can relate that there are some things we can do well naturally, that there are some thing that we can learn to do well, and that there are others that we should probably never even try. The delicate balance is discerning what we are called to do, and what we are not called to do -- freedom and limitation in a delicate dance.
I suspect that the Apostle Peter never really saw himself as much more than a fisherman. I doubt that he wanted to be a leader; yet, Jesus saw something in him that challenged him to reframe his self-understanding. Somewhere along the way, Peter made the leap from fisherman to shepherd. Jesus awoke within Peter a discerning spirit and gave him the courage to see within himself his leadership potential. Jesus helped Peter to understand that he would have the gifts and strengths not only to herd his flock but also to push them forward into new and verdant pastures. He saw within Peter a strong leader that could push and encourage his sheep, but also, when needed, to gently tend and feed them. Jesus activated within Peter his gifts for leadership, and there on the seashore, gave him the courage to use them.
Peter still had his limitations, though. He was not the first one to recognize the Lord that morning. No. That honour belongs to the beloved disciple, that unnamed follower of Jesus who rested his head on Jesus at the last supper, who remained faithful at the foot of the cross, who was the first to believe in the resurrection when he saw the empty tomb. So, some time later, on that morning in boats on the sea of Tiberias, after fishing all night with Peter and the others, when the eyes of all others were clouded, the Beloved Disciple looked toward the seashore and recognized the risen Lord. This Beloved Disciple, himself a fisherman, was not destined to be the shepherd of Jesus’ people. No. Instead, he had the gift of insight, the gift to recognize and see the risen Lord in the most unlikely of places, and to share that story with others. If he is indeed the witness that stands behind the words of the Gospel of John, then he had a most remarkable gift indeed, for his words have continued to witness to the Risen Christ, and teach the faith for two thousand years. Jesus stirred within the Beloved Disciple the gifts he needed to live out his vocation.
Peter and the Beloved Disciple shared many of the same practical skills, and likely, they both came from a very similar upbringing and socio-economic class, practicing the same profession -- two men with similar skills, but different gifts; two men with the same Lord and master, but different callings.
Both were called. Both men responded to the words, “follow me.” But their answers of “yes” meant different paths for each of them. They had the freedom to say “yes” or “no” to the call, to continue on doing what they were doing, or to see where unlocking their gifts and following Jesus took them. Both responded with a “yes,” but their individual gifts would shape how they each live out the call in very different ways. Peter could no more be the thoughtful insightful witness that inspired belief in others, any more than the Beloved Disciple could be the shepherd of a people who required equal doses of gentleness and challenge. Each had their gifts and each had their calling.
In their final conversation, Jesus thrice encouraged Peter to care and tend for his flock. Peter was a bit hurt by Jesus’ repetition of this instruction, but it was only to encourage Peter (and to confirm his faith in his gifts of leadership) that Jesus pressed this message repeatedly upon him. Jesus then told Peter that leadership is not about being free, but being yoked. In youth we fasten our own belts, we do what we want, and we go where we want to go. In old age, we stretch out our arms and others dress us and take us where we do not want to go. This was a thinly veiled reference to Peter’s eventual martyrdom. Peter was given the leadership of Jesus’ followers. He would be called upon to make decisions, to arbitrate disputes, to have the final say. If we follow Matthew’s account, “what Peter bound on earth would be bound in heaven.” He was given the keys. That’s a lot of authority, and presumably a lot of freedom. And yet, Jesus’ sermon illustration was about his loss of freedom. With his new-found authority, Peter was bound to follow a new way, the way his own master exercised leadership, that is, the way of the cross -- freedom and limitation in a delicate dance.
Peter, ever the straight-shooting talker (perhaps, one of his traits of leadership) asked about the other disciple, the Beloved Disciple, “what about him, Lord?” Perhaps, like many leaders, Peter was worried about the competition. Jesus simply said, “Don’t worry about him. I have other plans for him.” It was like he was saying to each of them,” I know your gifts; now you two recognize them in each other and all will be well. Now just follow me.” And follow they did. Peter led the people until legend tells us he followed in his masters step’s to martyrdom in Rome. The Beloved Disciple lived to a very great age, outlived all the other disciples, and went on to teach and inspire others to teach the faith to some of the great Christian leaders of the second century. The Gospel of John is a timeless testament to his story of Jesus, and through it, he witnesses to the Risen Lord still, and teaches us today.
As with raising children, working in unexpected jobs, caring for aging parents, in all the strange twists and turns that life throws at us, we find within ourselves the gifts to live the life into which we are called. The question is not whether I can grow up to the President or Prime Minister; it is not whether I can be a CEO or teacher, a nurse or fisherman, it is how might I be faithful to the call in which I am truly free? To live into the call that God gives us, to follow him wherever he may lead us, is perfect freedom, but it closes other doors. There are doors through which we may wish to walk, or have hoped to have walked by any given benchmark in our lives. Perhaps, after all, there are doors better left unopened and road better left unwalked, for not every door is the door to the house into which I am called, and not every path is the path of my life. What is more to the point, is that from the boat on which we drift through the night, working away at whatever we do, the risen Lord calls from the seashore with the words, “follow me.” With him as our friend on the journey, we shall find the right doors through which our gifts will lead us, and right path on which our life and path will unfold.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Blessed are They who Have Not Seen, and Yet Believe - A Homily for Easter 2, Year C, 2010
Homily for Easter 2, Year C, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 20:19-29
“Blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe.”
-- John 20:29
Recently, the CBC re-ran an episode of Tapestry featuring an interview with the Franciscan writer, Richard Rohr. Rohr explained that while the Western Christian Tradition has a grand tradition of systematic theology, that strength, namely explaining and systematizing every detail of the faith, has also been its weakness. He posed this question: if everything is explained and understood, then where does faith come in?
To be sure, “faith seeks understanding,” as the old saying goes. I would be the last one to say that we should not engage our heads in the task of understanding our faith. To explore the questions of our faith and engage in critical theology is to worship and contemplate God with our minds. It is an act of intellectual piety. Sometimes though, in our efforts to work out all the details of the faith, we lose sight of what the concept faith actually means. Faith is about believing without knowing or understanding how it might all fit together. Faith is about trust. Faith is about believing even in the midst of all the doubts that bounce around in our heads and hearts.
Thomas is to be commended because demanded proof. His faith was not of the mindless sort. He could not make the acclamation “Christ is risen!” unless he saw and touched the risen Lord, himself. In his skepticism and his need for evidence, Thomas would have fit into the Church of our day (or any other day) quite nicely. Perhaps Thomas was the first Christian theologian, seeking to understand his theological landscape by gathering evidence in order that he might sort it out and make sense of it all. We need people who do this sort of work. In fact, we are all called to try to make sense of our faith.
On the other hand, though, we can be riddled with such skepticism and a demand for evidence that we might never believe anything, even when the evidence is put before us. Since the Enlightenment, we have tended to live our lives with a hermeneutic of suspicion: unless I can have absolute certainty about the theological landscape of Christianity, I cannot, I will not believe. But then, what is faith?
Thomas, who refused to believe unless he saw with his own eyes and touched with his own hands, stood before the Lord who offered him just that opportunity. “See my wounds, Thomas. Touch them! Do not doubt, but believe!”
Interestingly, and profoundly, we are not told if Thomas actually touched Jesus, only that he responded with the most forthright confession of faith in the whole New Testament, “My Lord and My God!” Did Thomas realize upon seeing his master, that he had no need to touch him, that sight alone was enough for him to make that leap of faith?
And what of us who have not the privilege of gazing upon those wounds, much less the opportunity to touch them? Will we demand evidence before we believe? Perhaps, though, we ought to look at things from another perspective. Maybe it is not us who touch Jesus, but Jesus who touches us. Perhaps it is Jesus who sees us in our doubt and our distress and reaches out to us, as he did to his disciples with the words, “Peace be with you,” and offering that peace opens for us the eyes of faith. For, it seems to me, faith is not something we can ever really attain by gathering up evidence, rather, it is something we can claim when we have been beheld and touched by our Risen Lord. In recognizing that the Lord has first touched us, then the fire of faith is kindled in our hearts. The work of theology is not about seeking out God to prove God exists and ignite faith within us, rather is our response to a loving God who knows us by name, calls us and reaches out to us. “Faith seeking understanding” is precisely that. It is the working out of the gift of faith that the fire kindled with in us might burn more brightly, more deeply and more fully in our lives. Blessed are we who have been seen by the Lord, and believe.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: John 20:19-29
“Blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe.”
-- John 20:29
Recently, the CBC re-ran an episode of Tapestry featuring an interview with the Franciscan writer, Richard Rohr. Rohr explained that while the Western Christian Tradition has a grand tradition of systematic theology, that strength, namely explaining and systematizing every detail of the faith, has also been its weakness. He posed this question: if everything is explained and understood, then where does faith come in?
To be sure, “faith seeks understanding,” as the old saying goes. I would be the last one to say that we should not engage our heads in the task of understanding our faith. To explore the questions of our faith and engage in critical theology is to worship and contemplate God with our minds. It is an act of intellectual piety. Sometimes though, in our efforts to work out all the details of the faith, we lose sight of what the concept faith actually means. Faith is about believing without knowing or understanding how it might all fit together. Faith is about trust. Faith is about believing even in the midst of all the doubts that bounce around in our heads and hearts.
Thomas is to be commended because demanded proof. His faith was not of the mindless sort. He could not make the acclamation “Christ is risen!” unless he saw and touched the risen Lord, himself. In his skepticism and his need for evidence, Thomas would have fit into the Church of our day (or any other day) quite nicely. Perhaps Thomas was the first Christian theologian, seeking to understand his theological landscape by gathering evidence in order that he might sort it out and make sense of it all. We need people who do this sort of work. In fact, we are all called to try to make sense of our faith.
On the other hand, though, we can be riddled with such skepticism and a demand for evidence that we might never believe anything, even when the evidence is put before us. Since the Enlightenment, we have tended to live our lives with a hermeneutic of suspicion: unless I can have absolute certainty about the theological landscape of Christianity, I cannot, I will not believe. But then, what is faith?
Thomas, who refused to believe unless he saw with his own eyes and touched with his own hands, stood before the Lord who offered him just that opportunity. “See my wounds, Thomas. Touch them! Do not doubt, but believe!”
Interestingly, and profoundly, we are not told if Thomas actually touched Jesus, only that he responded with the most forthright confession of faith in the whole New Testament, “My Lord and My God!” Did Thomas realize upon seeing his master, that he had no need to touch him, that sight alone was enough for him to make that leap of faith?
And what of us who have not the privilege of gazing upon those wounds, much less the opportunity to touch them? Will we demand evidence before we believe? Perhaps, though, we ought to look at things from another perspective. Maybe it is not us who touch Jesus, but Jesus who touches us. Perhaps it is Jesus who sees us in our doubt and our distress and reaches out to us, as he did to his disciples with the words, “Peace be with you,” and offering that peace opens for us the eyes of faith. For, it seems to me, faith is not something we can ever really attain by gathering up evidence, rather, it is something we can claim when we have been beheld and touched by our Risen Lord. In recognizing that the Lord has first touched us, then the fire of faith is kindled in our hearts. The work of theology is not about seeking out God to prove God exists and ignite faith within us, rather is our response to a loving God who knows us by name, calls us and reaches out to us. “Faith seeking understanding” is precisely that. It is the working out of the gift of faith that the fire kindled with in us might burn more brightly, more deeply and more fully in our lives. Blessed are we who have been seen by the Lord, and believe.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Incarnation of Truth: A Homily for Good Friday
Homily for Good Friday, 2010
Friday, April 02, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: The Passion According to St. John
"What is Truth?"
--John 18:38
Before the judgment seat of Pilate, Jesus was asked this question, “What is truth?” In my own never-to-be-produced imaginary Hollywood production of John’s Gospel, I direct a flashback sequence to be inserted, one of those rapid sequences recalling the many times this question has already been answered and reminding the audience of moments they have already witnessed. In rapid succession these snippets pass before our eyes in black and white celluloid:
Cut to: the opening sequence of the film in which John the Baptist is baptizing in the Jordan and suddenly Jesus appears, the omniscient narrator with a deep resonating voice begins –
"There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world … And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth … the Law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ."
"John the Baptist," booms the narrator, "testified to the truth."
Cut to: a quickly succeeding montage of moments of Jesus teaching his disciples; a succession of his great “I am statements.” -
“I am the true bread, which has come down from heaven.”
“I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower.”
“I am the way, the truth and the life.”
“I have not come on my own, but the one who has sent me is true.”
Cut to: Jesus, the night before his trial, at supper with his friends praying his final prayer for them. He proclaims –
“When the Spirit comes, he will lead you into all truth,” and then prays to his Father, “Sanctify them in the truth. Your word is true. I came into the world to testify to the truth.
The rapid succession of black and white flashbacks end, and the audience reminded of all that has gone before is returned in full colour to the present of Jesus standing before Pilate and making his testimony:
“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs the truth listens to my voice.”
To which Pilate replies, “What is truth?”
But the actor playing Pilate offers this line neither as a sneer, nor as a philosophically profound rhetorical statement. It is clear to those who watch that this is the empty question of a man who does not understand that the answer to the very question he asks is standing before him, in his very presence.
Jesus is Truth.
We, the audience, understand this, for we have journeyed with him from the outset of his ministry when he was proclaimed as the truth of God by John the Baptist, and through his ministry he proclaimed himself as God’s truth in a world blind and hostile to the truth of God. We have the flashbacks to remind us Jesus’ own confession of his identity, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” His very presence testifies to the truth in our midst.
For a moment we sit, our eyes transfixed upon screen, as the eyes of Pilate meet the eyes of Jesus. At first we experience a sense of anxiety, what will Jesus say, what will Pilate do? And then we realize that Pilate has missed the point altogether; we experience incredulity at Pilate’s ignorance. But soon, our incredulity turns to shame, for we quickly realize that Pilate’s question haunts us, for it is our question, too, is it not? What is truth? Even if we accept that Jesus is the truth, what on earth does that mean?
What is truth? Perhaps somewhere in our silver-screen adaptation, we shall have taken the liberty to create an apocryphal scene. This scene will have shown another teacher, an ancient nameless philosopher, who teaches a philosophy something akin to Platonism. In this scene, this teacher will have taught that Truth (that is, capital “T” Truth) lives in the realm of ideas, in the perfect mind, free from the corruption and decay of the material world. Truth exists in the realm of the divine, in the mind of God, and anything here on earth that appears true is but a reflection of the divine truth. While we may touch truth with our minds from time to time, it is fleeting and any immediate sense of truth is perishable. Truth is only in the mind of God. Anything else is a pale reflection of perfect truth. We can catch a glimpse of truth through the study of philosophy and through a certain ethic, but we are mistaken if we think truth walks amongst us.
Now this scene is not in our Gospel narrative, but I take liberty as the director to include it in my movie because it is a plausible scene and provides a sort of stereotyped image of an ancient philosophical teaching that characterizes the world into which Jesus comes.
Thus, when Jesus is seen amongst his disciples and proclaims, “He who has sent me is true,” our cast of disciples wonder if he is a platonic teacher, and we might wonder it, too, for we have just witnessed another teacher teaching that Truth exists only in the realm of the divine. God is Truth.
But as the film unfolds and the story of Jesus is told, we discover the twist that makes this story different. It is a different story of the truth. It is the story of the Incarnation of Truth. Perhaps that is what we should call the film, “The Incarnation of Truth.” For Truth ceases to be an abstract concept that only resides in the pure and divine mind; rather, Truth enters into the world, becomes part of the world, become part of the human species in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, Truth transforms the world.
“I am the true bread from heaven,” and “I am the true vine.” Not a mere reflection of the invisible, idealized bread, residing only in the mind of God, not an earthly representation invisible, idealized vine taking shape only in the mind of the Father in heaven. No. Jesus proclaimed, “I am the truth.” And to behold the Truth, to behold his glory is to become children of that same Light, not a light that shines distantly in the heavens, but a light that shines in our darkness. The True Light that was coming into the world.
The Incarnation of the Truth is for the purpose of leading God’s people into the Truth by the power of the Spirit. The Incarnation leads us into the truth, not by having us forsake this dark and broken world, but by shining its light into the darkness. The Incarnation leads us into truth not by lifting us out of an untruthful and unrighteous world, but by bringing Truth into the world and transforming the world in Truth. Jesus is the Truth of God that transforms the world from darkness to light, from sin to righteousness, and from falsehood to Truth.
Jesus stands before Pilate, his presence a testimony to the Truth of God. Truth itself stood before Pilate and Pilate asks, “What is truth?”
Blind to the reality of Truth in his midst, he sends Jesus to the cross – a story more sad than sinister. Yet, be it sad or sinister, God’s truth is made known to the world as Jesus hangs upon the cross. It becomes clear to all who watch the drama unfold that the Truth of God is riddled with paradox: strength in weakness, victory in humility, life in death. The instrument of execution becomes the means to eternal life. The cross intended to damn to death becomes the living tree that saves.
Truth stood before Pilate and Pilate knew him not.
Soon the film will wind to its close. Truth will stand in his risen body before others, in the garden near an empty tomb, in the home behind the locked doors of a house and on the shores of the Galilean lake. Yes, others will see Truth and recognize him. As director, I shall cut away to an image of cross resting on its side on a hill, its wood beginning to decompose, but from which green foliage and flowers begin to grow. And lastly, we shall see a man named John (another John, the disciple whom Jesus loved best), dictating words to a scribe. He will dictate words that that testify to the Truth, words we continue to read, believe and proclaim, that even on this darkest day, we might know the answer to the question, “What is Truth?”
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Friday, April 02, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: The Passion According to St. John
"What is Truth?"
--John 18:38
Before the judgment seat of Pilate, Jesus was asked this question, “What is truth?” In my own never-to-be-produced imaginary Hollywood production of John’s Gospel, I direct a flashback sequence to be inserted, one of those rapid sequences recalling the many times this question has already been answered and reminding the audience of moments they have already witnessed. In rapid succession these snippets pass before our eyes in black and white celluloid:
Cut to: the opening sequence of the film in which John the Baptist is baptizing in the Jordan and suddenly Jesus appears, the omniscient narrator with a deep resonating voice begins –
"There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world … And the word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth … the Law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ."
"John the Baptist," booms the narrator, "testified to the truth."
Cut to: a quickly succeeding montage of moments of Jesus teaching his disciples; a succession of his great “I am statements.” -
“I am the true bread, which has come down from heaven.”
“I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower.”
“I am the way, the truth and the life.”
“I have not come on my own, but the one who has sent me is true.”
Cut to: Jesus, the night before his trial, at supper with his friends praying his final prayer for them. He proclaims –
“When the Spirit comes, he will lead you into all truth,” and then prays to his Father, “Sanctify them in the truth. Your word is true. I came into the world to testify to the truth.
The rapid succession of black and white flashbacks end, and the audience reminded of all that has gone before is returned in full colour to the present of Jesus standing before Pilate and making his testimony:
“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs the truth listens to my voice.”
To which Pilate replies, “What is truth?”
But the actor playing Pilate offers this line neither as a sneer, nor as a philosophically profound rhetorical statement. It is clear to those who watch that this is the empty question of a man who does not understand that the answer to the very question he asks is standing before him, in his very presence.
Jesus is Truth.
We, the audience, understand this, for we have journeyed with him from the outset of his ministry when he was proclaimed as the truth of God by John the Baptist, and through his ministry he proclaimed himself as God’s truth in a world blind and hostile to the truth of God. We have the flashbacks to remind us Jesus’ own confession of his identity, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” His very presence testifies to the truth in our midst.
For a moment we sit, our eyes transfixed upon screen, as the eyes of Pilate meet the eyes of Jesus. At first we experience a sense of anxiety, what will Jesus say, what will Pilate do? And then we realize that Pilate has missed the point altogether; we experience incredulity at Pilate’s ignorance. But soon, our incredulity turns to shame, for we quickly realize that Pilate’s question haunts us, for it is our question, too, is it not? What is truth? Even if we accept that Jesus is the truth, what on earth does that mean?
What is truth? Perhaps somewhere in our silver-screen adaptation, we shall have taken the liberty to create an apocryphal scene. This scene will have shown another teacher, an ancient nameless philosopher, who teaches a philosophy something akin to Platonism. In this scene, this teacher will have taught that Truth (that is, capital “T” Truth) lives in the realm of ideas, in the perfect mind, free from the corruption and decay of the material world. Truth exists in the realm of the divine, in the mind of God, and anything here on earth that appears true is but a reflection of the divine truth. While we may touch truth with our minds from time to time, it is fleeting and any immediate sense of truth is perishable. Truth is only in the mind of God. Anything else is a pale reflection of perfect truth. We can catch a glimpse of truth through the study of philosophy and through a certain ethic, but we are mistaken if we think truth walks amongst us.
Now this scene is not in our Gospel narrative, but I take liberty as the director to include it in my movie because it is a plausible scene and provides a sort of stereotyped image of an ancient philosophical teaching that characterizes the world into which Jesus comes.
Thus, when Jesus is seen amongst his disciples and proclaims, “He who has sent me is true,” our cast of disciples wonder if he is a platonic teacher, and we might wonder it, too, for we have just witnessed another teacher teaching that Truth exists only in the realm of the divine. God is Truth.
But as the film unfolds and the story of Jesus is told, we discover the twist that makes this story different. It is a different story of the truth. It is the story of the Incarnation of Truth. Perhaps that is what we should call the film, “The Incarnation of Truth.” For Truth ceases to be an abstract concept that only resides in the pure and divine mind; rather, Truth enters into the world, becomes part of the world, become part of the human species in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Indeed, Truth transforms the world.
“I am the true bread from heaven,” and “I am the true vine.” Not a mere reflection of the invisible, idealized bread, residing only in the mind of God, not an earthly representation invisible, idealized vine taking shape only in the mind of the Father in heaven. No. Jesus proclaimed, “I am the truth.” And to behold the Truth, to behold his glory is to become children of that same Light, not a light that shines distantly in the heavens, but a light that shines in our darkness. The True Light that was coming into the world.
The Incarnation of the Truth is for the purpose of leading God’s people into the Truth by the power of the Spirit. The Incarnation leads us into the truth, not by having us forsake this dark and broken world, but by shining its light into the darkness. The Incarnation leads us into truth not by lifting us out of an untruthful and unrighteous world, but by bringing Truth into the world and transforming the world in Truth. Jesus is the Truth of God that transforms the world from darkness to light, from sin to righteousness, and from falsehood to Truth.
Jesus stands before Pilate, his presence a testimony to the Truth of God. Truth itself stood before Pilate and Pilate asks, “What is truth?”
Blind to the reality of Truth in his midst, he sends Jesus to the cross – a story more sad than sinister. Yet, be it sad or sinister, God’s truth is made known to the world as Jesus hangs upon the cross. It becomes clear to all who watch the drama unfold that the Truth of God is riddled with paradox: strength in weakness, victory in humility, life in death. The instrument of execution becomes the means to eternal life. The cross intended to damn to death becomes the living tree that saves.
Truth stood before Pilate and Pilate knew him not.
Soon the film will wind to its close. Truth will stand in his risen body before others, in the garden near an empty tomb, in the home behind the locked doors of a house and on the shores of the Galilean lake. Yes, others will see Truth and recognize him. As director, I shall cut away to an image of cross resting on its side on a hill, its wood beginning to decompose, but from which green foliage and flowers begin to grow. And lastly, we shall see a man named John (another John, the disciple whom Jesus loved best), dictating words to a scribe. He will dictate words that that testify to the Truth, words we continue to read, believe and proclaim, that even on this darkest day, we might know the answer to the question, “What is Truth?”
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Jerusalem, the City the Kills the Prophets - A Sermon for Palm Sunday, Year C, 2010
Sermon for Palm Sunday, Year C, 2010
Sunday, March 28th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 24:1-43
One day, in the midst of his teaching ministry, some Pharisees approached Jesus to warn him that Herod wanted to kill him. He told them to send Herod this message, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! ... You will not see me until the times comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord’” (Luke 13:34,35). And with these words, he pressed on toward Jerusalem.
In time, the shouts of “Crucify! Crucify!” prevailed, Pilate handed the prisoner over to death, and Jesus was led to the place of crucifixion – flogged, beaten, stumbling. Then, a certain man, Simon of Cyrene, coming in from the countryside and crossing the path of those paraded to their death as he did on so many days, Simon was seized by the soldiers. Laying upon him the cross of this prisoner, they compelled him to carry it. As the beaten and flogged prisoner stumbled forward, Simon followed behind, slowly, under the weight of the timber pressing down on his back. Suddenly distracted by the clamour of the wailing of women beating their breasts and lamenting the fate of this one convict, Simon looked up. And as the shoulders of Jesus straightened and he turned his gaze at the women, the prisoner spoke these chastising words to the women who were already bewailing his death: “Weep not for me, you Daughters of Jerusalem. Hold yourselves in pity. Curse the day that you were born and curse the wombs by which you shall bear children.” Simon asked himself, what manner of man is this who curses those who lament his death? “Pity yourselves,” the prisoner continued, “bless the day of your own destruction for it will be a great relief to you. Don’t you see that if this fate falls upon an innocent man, what fate will fall upon you and all of this city who, guilty of such grievous sin, stand truly condemned?”
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!
The very day in which we live is a city that kills the prophets and persecutes those who are sent to it. Would any deny that we are in need of a prophetic voice? Would any, knowing the terrors of Armenia, Auschwitz, Hiroshima, Rwanda, and the hidden terrors known only to God, dare to deny that we stand in need of a prophetic word? Would any deny that even as we hear such a word, we fail to receive it? Do we dare, like Herod, ask for a sign, when so many have been given, or call for a word of prophecy when so many have already been uttered?
The women around Jesus knew of the prophets. They knew the story of Israel; they knew the story of Judah. They knew of the Babylonian captivity, they knew of the subsequent short-lived liberation. They knew of God’s wrath, and they knew of God’s compassion. But they could not read the signs of their times. They were aware of the prophets but they were not in tune with them.
And so it is for us, if not more so: Do we even know who the prophets are? Are we so persuaded by those whom the world calls important, and those whom the world calls wise that we are unaware of those whom upon God has granted the gift of prophecy in our age? Do we call upon God to help us discern the prophets of our age? Do we even care to know who they are?
Do we even care when God raises up prophets amongst us? When God raises up those who dare to speak the truth or utter a prophetic word, we make the choice not to listen -- to turn the channel. There are people who cry out about injustice, they cry out with the voice of God and the authority of God, and we feign interest, and more disturbingly, we feign lamentation when their prophecies come to pass. What is more, it is easy to lament them when they are persecuted because we do not believe that we persecute them. But, God help us, we do, through neglect, disrespect, negligence, false piety, feigned interest, self-centredness, and self-indulgence. Is it not much easier to lament the horror and then, turn each one of us, to our own way?
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!
As they reach the place of execution, Simon relieved of his burden, falls to the ground, exhausted, not only under the weight of the instrument of death, but under the weight of the condemnation of his city. There they crucify the prisoner. His cross is lifted high, and on either side of him are other criminals, each bringing to the moment of their death the weight of lives wasted and lives of unfulfilled hope and promise. Then, from the lips of the man in the centre, looking down on the crowds, the women, the soldiers, and even this man Simon, and out into the world, come these words: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.
Have any more beautiful or gracious words ever been spoken? To the one who betrayed me and turned me over to death: Father, forgive him. To those who shouted “Crucify him! Give us Barabbas!”: Father, forgive them. To the ones who slipped away under the darkness of night: Father forgive them. To the one who denied me; Father forgive him. To you soldiers who nail me to this tree; Father forgive them. To that man who carried this cross on which I am nailed, Father, forgive him. And to you, Daughters of Jerusalem, who kill the prophets and stone those whom God sends, Father forgive them. Father forgive them all, for they know not what they do.
But they do know what they do. They have heard the prophets, the voice of God has spoken to each one of them. Some of them followed him, some of them shared in his proclamation of the Kingdom. Many witnessed miracles and healings. Did even one of these stay with him? They knew what they did, and they were ashamed. But Jesus speaks these words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!
And then, one man, his name lost to history, one man, a sinner, hanging upon the cross. “Lord,” he says, “I know the evil that I have done. I know that I am worthy of such a death, but you, Lord? Jesus, remember me, a sinner, when you come into your kingdom.”
And then our Lord spoke such words with such power as never before, such words that changed the course of our human history: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
With those words, once spoken, the eyes of many a blind heart have been opened and the ears of many a deaf soul have received the word of salvation. With these words, the prophecy is fulfilled: How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood. One man was willing, one child of Jerusalem, and evil though he was, he threw himself humbly on the mercy of the crucified Lord. Blind to God’s prophets though he had been, deaf to God’s word, in a moment of grace he speaks the words: “Jesus, remember me.” And the words of life are spoken to him: “Truly, today you shall be with me in paradise.”
This then, is the good news of the gospel. Sinful sons and daughters of Jerusalem though we may be, we are heirs of the good thief, whom God called home though he was a grievous sinner. We are heirs to a promise and sons and daughters of the New Jerusalem. Though we are deaf to the prophets of God, God still desires to gather us under his wings as a mother hen broods over her children. Though we stone those who are sent to our city, Jesus still utters those gracious words, “Father forgive them” … although we know what we do.
God has sent us prophets. God has given us grace to hear the prophets. As he turned the heart of the good thief so he turns our hearts, giving and forgiving, opening our hearts to hear his word and giving us grace and power to not only hear but to act, and become prophets of the New Jerusalem. Faithful cross, the sign of triumph, now for us the noblest tree. For in the shadow of the cross, lit by the light of the resurrection, we have been transformed from sons and daughters of the old Jerusalem who wail and beat our breasts and feign lamentation for a prophet we have chosen not to hear into sons and daughters of the New Jerusalem, who at last have been gathered under the wings of God, and of whom this song is sung:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, March 28th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 24:1-43
One day, in the midst of his teaching ministry, some Pharisees approached Jesus to warn him that Herod wanted to kill him. He told them to send Herod this message, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! ... You will not see me until the times comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord’” (Luke 13:34,35). And with these words, he pressed on toward Jerusalem.
In time, the shouts of “Crucify! Crucify!” prevailed, Pilate handed the prisoner over to death, and Jesus was led to the place of crucifixion – flogged, beaten, stumbling. Then, a certain man, Simon of Cyrene, coming in from the countryside and crossing the path of those paraded to their death as he did on so many days, Simon was seized by the soldiers. Laying upon him the cross of this prisoner, they compelled him to carry it. As the beaten and flogged prisoner stumbled forward, Simon followed behind, slowly, under the weight of the timber pressing down on his back. Suddenly distracted by the clamour of the wailing of women beating their breasts and lamenting the fate of this one convict, Simon looked up. And as the shoulders of Jesus straightened and he turned his gaze at the women, the prisoner spoke these chastising words to the women who were already bewailing his death: “Weep not for me, you Daughters of Jerusalem. Hold yourselves in pity. Curse the day that you were born and curse the wombs by which you shall bear children.” Simon asked himself, what manner of man is this who curses those who lament his death? “Pity yourselves,” the prisoner continued, “bless the day of your own destruction for it will be a great relief to you. Don’t you see that if this fate falls upon an innocent man, what fate will fall upon you and all of this city who, guilty of such grievous sin, stand truly condemned?”
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!
The very day in which we live is a city that kills the prophets and persecutes those who are sent to it. Would any deny that we are in need of a prophetic voice? Would any, knowing the terrors of Armenia, Auschwitz, Hiroshima, Rwanda, and the hidden terrors known only to God, dare to deny that we stand in need of a prophetic word? Would any deny that even as we hear such a word, we fail to receive it? Do we dare, like Herod, ask for a sign, when so many have been given, or call for a word of prophecy when so many have already been uttered?
The women around Jesus knew of the prophets. They knew the story of Israel; they knew the story of Judah. They knew of the Babylonian captivity, they knew of the subsequent short-lived liberation. They knew of God’s wrath, and they knew of God’s compassion. But they could not read the signs of their times. They were aware of the prophets but they were not in tune with them.
And so it is for us, if not more so: Do we even know who the prophets are? Are we so persuaded by those whom the world calls important, and those whom the world calls wise that we are unaware of those whom upon God has granted the gift of prophecy in our age? Do we call upon God to help us discern the prophets of our age? Do we even care to know who they are?
Do we even care when God raises up prophets amongst us? When God raises up those who dare to speak the truth or utter a prophetic word, we make the choice not to listen -- to turn the channel. There are people who cry out about injustice, they cry out with the voice of God and the authority of God, and we feign interest, and more disturbingly, we feign lamentation when their prophecies come to pass. What is more, it is easy to lament them when they are persecuted because we do not believe that we persecute them. But, God help us, we do, through neglect, disrespect, negligence, false piety, feigned interest, self-centredness, and self-indulgence. Is it not much easier to lament the horror and then, turn each one of us, to our own way?
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!
As they reach the place of execution, Simon relieved of his burden, falls to the ground, exhausted, not only under the weight of the instrument of death, but under the weight of the condemnation of his city. There they crucify the prisoner. His cross is lifted high, and on either side of him are other criminals, each bringing to the moment of their death the weight of lives wasted and lives of unfulfilled hope and promise. Then, from the lips of the man in the centre, looking down on the crowds, the women, the soldiers, and even this man Simon, and out into the world, come these words: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.
Have any more beautiful or gracious words ever been spoken? To the one who betrayed me and turned me over to death: Father, forgive him. To those who shouted “Crucify him! Give us Barabbas!”: Father, forgive them. To the ones who slipped away under the darkness of night: Father forgive them. To the one who denied me; Father forgive him. To you soldiers who nail me to this tree; Father forgive them. To that man who carried this cross on which I am nailed, Father, forgive him. And to you, Daughters of Jerusalem, who kill the prophets and stone those whom God sends, Father forgive them. Father forgive them all, for they know not what they do.
But they do know what they do. They have heard the prophets, the voice of God has spoken to each one of them. Some of them followed him, some of them shared in his proclamation of the Kingdom. Many witnessed miracles and healings. Did even one of these stay with him? They knew what they did, and they were ashamed. But Jesus speaks these words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!
And then, one man, his name lost to history, one man, a sinner, hanging upon the cross. “Lord,” he says, “I know the evil that I have done. I know that I am worthy of such a death, but you, Lord? Jesus, remember me, a sinner, when you come into your kingdom.”
And then our Lord spoke such words with such power as never before, such words that changed the course of our human history: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
With those words, once spoken, the eyes of many a blind heart have been opened and the ears of many a deaf soul have received the word of salvation. With these words, the prophecy is fulfilled: How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood. One man was willing, one child of Jerusalem, and evil though he was, he threw himself humbly on the mercy of the crucified Lord. Blind to God’s prophets though he had been, deaf to God’s word, in a moment of grace he speaks the words: “Jesus, remember me.” And the words of life are spoken to him: “Truly, today you shall be with me in paradise.”
This then, is the good news of the gospel. Sinful sons and daughters of Jerusalem though we may be, we are heirs of the good thief, whom God called home though he was a grievous sinner. We are heirs to a promise and sons and daughters of the New Jerusalem. Though we are deaf to the prophets of God, God still desires to gather us under his wings as a mother hen broods over her children. Though we stone those who are sent to our city, Jesus still utters those gracious words, “Father forgive them” … although we know what we do.
God has sent us prophets. God has given us grace to hear the prophets. As he turned the heart of the good thief so he turns our hearts, giving and forgiving, opening our hearts to hear his word and giving us grace and power to not only hear but to act, and become prophets of the New Jerusalem. Faithful cross, the sign of triumph, now for us the noblest tree. For in the shadow of the cross, lit by the light of the resurrection, we have been transformed from sons and daughters of the old Jerusalem who wail and beat our breasts and feign lamentation for a prophet we have chosen not to hear into sons and daughters of the New Jerusalem, who at last have been gathered under the wings of God, and of whom this song is sung:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Saturday, March 6, 2010
"Give them another chance!" A Sermon for Lent 3, 2010
Homily for Lent 3, Year C, 2010
Sunday, March 7th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 13:1-9
“Sir, let it alone for one more year.”
-Luke 13:8
In considering the evils that have plagued this world in the past century and contrasting the great evils of our time with the relatively benevolent behaviour of everyday men and women, it would be easy for us to say we are free from sin. Most of us lead lives in which we do our best to love our families, be good citizens, and make a positive contribution to the world in which we live. For the most part, we are not criminals or hurtful people and when contrasted with those who stand trial for brutal crimes or against those who perpetrate holocausts and ethnic cleansing, we come off looking pretty good. Without a doubt, the goodness of ordinary people is often eclipsed by the all too real stories of human depravity and brutal disregard for the lives of others. Thus, we should celebrate goodness where we find it and allow goodness to cast a light on the darkness. It is worth remembering during this Lenten season, though, that as good as we might be, we all do things for which we are ashamed and of which we ought to repent. To recall the words of St. John, “if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”
I suspect that this is the thrust of the first part of story found in Luke 13. Some people put a question to Jesus about those who suffered various horrible fates, namely some Galileans murdered by Pilate and those who were killed when a tower fell on them. In the ancient world, disaster was often considered to be a punishment for sin. Indeed, a disaster might have even been considered a display of God’s wrath and evidence of previously committed sins. Sadly, this archaic religion is not a thing of the past. A certain well-known televangelist recently claimed that the Haitian disaster was a consequence of sins committed by the Haitian people in the nineteenth century. Yet, one wonders if this well-known preacher has ever read Luke 13 in which Jesus rebukes the questioners with the words, “unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
We are so quick to see the sin in another and to assume that their misfortune is result of their faithlessness, but God forbid my own sins should be unmasked, for I am surely deserving of no better a fate. The truth is that be they large or small, our sins and our mistakes are all things for which God ought to be justly displeased. If our human brokenness were unmasked to the world there is not a one of us that could stand unashamed. We all have things we hide. We all have things in our lives about which we are deeply ashamed. And truth be told, we are all likely afraid that if our brokenness were unveiled, we would be punished for it.
Jesus’ words are harsh, not because God is harsh, but because we belong to a harsh reality, that good and decent as we are, there is not one of us that is perfect, and there is not one of us that does not harbour some shameful secret. If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves. Lent is a time for us to stare the reality of our sinfulness in the face.
Jesus confronts us with a harsh reality, but does not leave us without hope. As he so often does, he tells us a little story, a parable, to teach us something about God and the kingdom. Jesus tells the story of a man who plants a vineyard and this man’s encounter with the gardener who tends it. One particular tree in the vineyard has been without fruit for three seasons and the man, being the practical fellow that he is, commands the gardener to cut it down for it is simply wasting the soil in which it is planted. The gardener pleads with him though, “just one more year and a little more tending to the soil… if it doesn’t bear fruit at that time, then you can cut it down.”
“Give me one more chance, one more season.” We all deserve another chance, for we are all sinners. In spite of the fact that we think we ought to be punished, Jesus says, “Give me another go with him.” Maybe we need a little nourishment, a little cultivation, maybe just a little time. The truth is that maybe what we need is just a little help from our Lord. Left to our own devices we can be decent people, but we will always be flawed people. There will always be someone we offend or hurt, there will always be some way in which we have let ourselves down, let our loved ones down, let our God down. As Christian people, though, this need no dissuade us from pressing forward, for the Lord our God is good indeed. He does not visit disaster upon us for our sins, as some might suggest, rather his style is to say, “let’s give her another year,” or “I’m not finished with him yet.”
Most importantly, though, we are not left to our own devices to make things right, for God himself in Christ, tends the soil of our brokenness and sinfulness, and in doing so brings forth fruit in our lives. The whole Lenten journey is less about what we can do to make ourselves better people, and entirely about what God can do to bring forth fruit in our lives and for his kingdom. The triumph of the cross is the vanquishing of the shame of our sin and brokenness. The cross is at once Jesus’ cry to the Father, “give them one more year,” and at the same time his loving tending to the soil of our broken lives. When we are withering and dying under the shame of our guilt, Jesus stands for us, with us, and puts his hands into the dirt of our lives to cultivate within us the fruit of redemption.
Thus, to keep a holy Lent is not to work harder at something we can never attain on our own, but to offer the things we dare not share with other men and women directly to the Christ, hanging on the Cross, and he will bury them in a tomb from which no stone can be rolled away, and then give us living water that we might flourish and grow under the nourishment of his risen life.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, March 7th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 13:1-9
“Sir, let it alone for one more year.”
-Luke 13:8
In considering the evils that have plagued this world in the past century and contrasting the great evils of our time with the relatively benevolent behaviour of everyday men and women, it would be easy for us to say we are free from sin. Most of us lead lives in which we do our best to love our families, be good citizens, and make a positive contribution to the world in which we live. For the most part, we are not criminals or hurtful people and when contrasted with those who stand trial for brutal crimes or against those who perpetrate holocausts and ethnic cleansing, we come off looking pretty good. Without a doubt, the goodness of ordinary people is often eclipsed by the all too real stories of human depravity and brutal disregard for the lives of others. Thus, we should celebrate goodness where we find it and allow goodness to cast a light on the darkness. It is worth remembering during this Lenten season, though, that as good as we might be, we all do things for which we are ashamed and of which we ought to repent. To recall the words of St. John, “if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”
I suspect that this is the thrust of the first part of story found in Luke 13. Some people put a question to Jesus about those who suffered various horrible fates, namely some Galileans murdered by Pilate and those who were killed when a tower fell on them. In the ancient world, disaster was often considered to be a punishment for sin. Indeed, a disaster might have even been considered a display of God’s wrath and evidence of previously committed sins. Sadly, this archaic religion is not a thing of the past. A certain well-known televangelist recently claimed that the Haitian disaster was a consequence of sins committed by the Haitian people in the nineteenth century. Yet, one wonders if this well-known preacher has ever read Luke 13 in which Jesus rebukes the questioners with the words, “unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”
We are so quick to see the sin in another and to assume that their misfortune is result of their faithlessness, but God forbid my own sins should be unmasked, for I am surely deserving of no better a fate. The truth is that be they large or small, our sins and our mistakes are all things for which God ought to be justly displeased. If our human brokenness were unmasked to the world there is not a one of us that could stand unashamed. We all have things we hide. We all have things in our lives about which we are deeply ashamed. And truth be told, we are all likely afraid that if our brokenness were unveiled, we would be punished for it.
Jesus’ words are harsh, not because God is harsh, but because we belong to a harsh reality, that good and decent as we are, there is not one of us that is perfect, and there is not one of us that does not harbour some shameful secret. If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves. Lent is a time for us to stare the reality of our sinfulness in the face.
Jesus confronts us with a harsh reality, but does not leave us without hope. As he so often does, he tells us a little story, a parable, to teach us something about God and the kingdom. Jesus tells the story of a man who plants a vineyard and this man’s encounter with the gardener who tends it. One particular tree in the vineyard has been without fruit for three seasons and the man, being the practical fellow that he is, commands the gardener to cut it down for it is simply wasting the soil in which it is planted. The gardener pleads with him though, “just one more year and a little more tending to the soil… if it doesn’t bear fruit at that time, then you can cut it down.”
“Give me one more chance, one more season.” We all deserve another chance, for we are all sinners. In spite of the fact that we think we ought to be punished, Jesus says, “Give me another go with him.” Maybe we need a little nourishment, a little cultivation, maybe just a little time. The truth is that maybe what we need is just a little help from our Lord. Left to our own devices we can be decent people, but we will always be flawed people. There will always be someone we offend or hurt, there will always be some way in which we have let ourselves down, let our loved ones down, let our God down. As Christian people, though, this need no dissuade us from pressing forward, for the Lord our God is good indeed. He does not visit disaster upon us for our sins, as some might suggest, rather his style is to say, “let’s give her another year,” or “I’m not finished with him yet.”
Most importantly, though, we are not left to our own devices to make things right, for God himself in Christ, tends the soil of our brokenness and sinfulness, and in doing so brings forth fruit in our lives. The whole Lenten journey is less about what we can do to make ourselves better people, and entirely about what God can do to bring forth fruit in our lives and for his kingdom. The triumph of the cross is the vanquishing of the shame of our sin and brokenness. The cross is at once Jesus’ cry to the Father, “give them one more year,” and at the same time his loving tending to the soil of our broken lives. When we are withering and dying under the shame of our guilt, Jesus stands for us, with us, and puts his hands into the dirt of our lives to cultivate within us the fruit of redemption.
Thus, to keep a holy Lent is not to work harder at something we can never attain on our own, but to offer the things we dare not share with other men and women directly to the Christ, hanging on the Cross, and he will bury them in a tomb from which no stone can be rolled away, and then give us living water that we might flourish and grow under the nourishment of his risen life.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, February 21, 2010
What Would Jesus NOT Do - A Homily for Lent 1, Year C
Homily for Lent 1, Year C, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 4:1-14
We often hear it asked, “What would Jesus do?” However, I suppose the question set before us in today’s text is “What wouldn’t Jesus do?” The story invariably read on the first Sunday of Lent, whether it be the version from Matthew, Mark, or this year from Luke, is the story of the Temptation in the Wilderness. Following his Baptism, Jesus is driven out into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. In the life of the Church, Lent is traditionally a time of preparing candidates for baptism. Of course, baptism is such a joyous occasion and almost always followed by a lovely party with family and friends. Jesus got no party. Instead, he was given forty days in the wilderness, starving, thirsty, fighting of demons, and to top it all off, the devil came to him and tempted him. This story should serve as a word to the wise, and to those seeking baptism, namely, that the Christian life isn’t always a picnic in the park. The Christian life is filled with desert moment. The Christian life is filled with struggle against demons internal and external. The Christian is filled with temptations to do the things we ought not to do, and leave undone the things we ought to do. It may come as a surprise to many outside the Church who harbour such saintly, pious pictures of Christians who seem to never complain, drink, swear, get angry, or sad, that at times we may feel, as the words of the Book of Common Prayer confession says, as if we have no health in us.
There are many moments in our lives when we are confronted by choices. We are called upon to make decisions in our private lives, in our public lives, in our work and in our play that require ethical decision-making. We may not be literally confronted by that caricatured little fellow with the pointy tail and ears, horns on his head and pitchfork in hand, but we are confronted by situations that have the potential to destroy our lives and the lives of those around us. Often, those decisions may not present themselves as very profound. They may be deceptively prosaic. And what is even more alarming, they may offer choices that seem to actually offer a good outcome, but as St. Paul wrote, the devil masquerades as an angel of light, and so we also take the advice of St. John, to discern the spirits because not every spirit is of God.
Thus, we meet Jesus in the wilderness and subsquently taken to the pinnacle of the Temple. Satan sets before him three temptations: the temptation to turn stones into bread, to become the master of all he could see, and to test God to do a miracle by saving Jesus from death. Now, are these things in and of themselves bad? Turning stone into bread to feed the hungry, Jesus as Lord of the world, and God delivering Jesus from death were all things that later became integral to the story of Jesus and salvation history. Feeding the hungry, Jesus as Lord, and the conquering of death through the resurrection are all signs marks of the Gospel. Yet, here, they are temptations by the devil.
Consider it further, in the shorter version of the Lord’s prayer in Luke 11, three of the key petitions clearly echo the evil’s temptation: give us today our daily bread; your kingdom come; save us from the time of trial.” Bread, kingdom, and salvation from the time of trial – all things with which the devil tempted Jesus, and yet, all things for which he prayed to his Father in Heaven.
As I see it, ethical decision-making in the Christian tradition, therefore, cannot simply involve proof-texting the Bible to see what it says, for the devil quotes Scripture, too. The words of Scripture can be twisted to justify the most insidious forms of chauvinism and bigotry. When posed with a difficult ethical question we must ask the question, to what end is my decision directed? Is my decision about filling my own stomach or quenching the hunger and thirst of others? Is my decision about giving glory, power and dominion to myself or about giving glory, power and dominion to God, the Father almighty and to his Christ? Is my decision about saving myself from the time of trial, or about relieving the trials, suffering, pain and brokenness of those around me and of the world at large? These considerations lie at the core of our ethical decision-making. And I believe that these are the principals that Jesus teaches us in Holy Scripture. He could have desired and accepted the good of all that the devil offered him, for the devil was not offering him inherently bad things. Yet, if he accepted what the devil offered, it would have been for his own personal aggrandizement and on contrary to the divine and triune will. He would not only have sold his soul, but he would have broken the heart of the Trinity. The Trinity would have ceased to be perfect holy divine communion. Ethical decision-making is about seeking Holy Communion with God and Holy Communion with each other. It means that we each have to give up a part of our own longings and desires to be together as God’s people, and to be a part of his body, in Christ.
This is not to say that we are to give up our human dignity, for human dignity is nothing less that image and likeness of God in us. Thus, we strive and fight “for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being,” as our baptismal covenant states. We stand against the evil forces that drive a wedge between us as a people and between us and our creator; we stand against the powers and dominions of this world that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God; and we stand against our own sinful desires that draw us from God’s love and break the bonds of our communion with each other.
Christ our God set before us the pattern of Christian ethical decision-making, namely to honour the divine, creative life in each one of us, not by turning to self, but turning outward to others, and upward to God the Father. True, authentic, divine selfhood is free from selfishness.
In and of ourselves, we are incapable of such divine selfhood; yet, in Christ, we learn what true selfhood is. In him we find our identity, and in him we live and move and have our being. And in communion with each other around his holy altar we dwell in him and he in us.
Thus, the answer to making ethical decisions is not always to simply ask what would Jesus do (although that is never a bad place to start), but perhaps to ask what he wouldn’t do. He would not turn stones to bread. He would not take the Lordship of the world for himself. He would not test God to save him from the time of trial. Tempting, and good as these things might have been, to have done them would have been to place his love of self ahead of his love for the world and his love for his Father in Heaven. Jesus knew who he was and what he wouldn’t do, because he knew that there is no greater love than that a man should lay down his life for his friend.
c. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 4:1-14
We often hear it asked, “What would Jesus do?” However, I suppose the question set before us in today’s text is “What wouldn’t Jesus do?” The story invariably read on the first Sunday of Lent, whether it be the version from Matthew, Mark, or this year from Luke, is the story of the Temptation in the Wilderness. Following his Baptism, Jesus is driven out into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. In the life of the Church, Lent is traditionally a time of preparing candidates for baptism. Of course, baptism is such a joyous occasion and almost always followed by a lovely party with family and friends. Jesus got no party. Instead, he was given forty days in the wilderness, starving, thirsty, fighting of demons, and to top it all off, the devil came to him and tempted him. This story should serve as a word to the wise, and to those seeking baptism, namely, that the Christian life isn’t always a picnic in the park. The Christian life is filled with desert moment. The Christian life is filled with struggle against demons internal and external. The Christian is filled with temptations to do the things we ought not to do, and leave undone the things we ought to do. It may come as a surprise to many outside the Church who harbour such saintly, pious pictures of Christians who seem to never complain, drink, swear, get angry, or sad, that at times we may feel, as the words of the Book of Common Prayer confession says, as if we have no health in us.
There are many moments in our lives when we are confronted by choices. We are called upon to make decisions in our private lives, in our public lives, in our work and in our play that require ethical decision-making. We may not be literally confronted by that caricatured little fellow with the pointy tail and ears, horns on his head and pitchfork in hand, but we are confronted by situations that have the potential to destroy our lives and the lives of those around us. Often, those decisions may not present themselves as very profound. They may be deceptively prosaic. And what is even more alarming, they may offer choices that seem to actually offer a good outcome, but as St. Paul wrote, the devil masquerades as an angel of light, and so we also take the advice of St. John, to discern the spirits because not every spirit is of God.
Thus, we meet Jesus in the wilderness and subsquently taken to the pinnacle of the Temple. Satan sets before him three temptations: the temptation to turn stones into bread, to become the master of all he could see, and to test God to do a miracle by saving Jesus from death. Now, are these things in and of themselves bad? Turning stone into bread to feed the hungry, Jesus as Lord of the world, and God delivering Jesus from death were all things that later became integral to the story of Jesus and salvation history. Feeding the hungry, Jesus as Lord, and the conquering of death through the resurrection are all signs marks of the Gospel. Yet, here, they are temptations by the devil.
Consider it further, in the shorter version of the Lord’s prayer in Luke 11, three of the key petitions clearly echo the evil’s temptation: give us today our daily bread; your kingdom come; save us from the time of trial.” Bread, kingdom, and salvation from the time of trial – all things with which the devil tempted Jesus, and yet, all things for which he prayed to his Father in Heaven.
As I see it, ethical decision-making in the Christian tradition, therefore, cannot simply involve proof-texting the Bible to see what it says, for the devil quotes Scripture, too. The words of Scripture can be twisted to justify the most insidious forms of chauvinism and bigotry. When posed with a difficult ethical question we must ask the question, to what end is my decision directed? Is my decision about filling my own stomach or quenching the hunger and thirst of others? Is my decision about giving glory, power and dominion to myself or about giving glory, power and dominion to God, the Father almighty and to his Christ? Is my decision about saving myself from the time of trial, or about relieving the trials, suffering, pain and brokenness of those around me and of the world at large? These considerations lie at the core of our ethical decision-making. And I believe that these are the principals that Jesus teaches us in Holy Scripture. He could have desired and accepted the good of all that the devil offered him, for the devil was not offering him inherently bad things. Yet, if he accepted what the devil offered, it would have been for his own personal aggrandizement and on contrary to the divine and triune will. He would not only have sold his soul, but he would have broken the heart of the Trinity. The Trinity would have ceased to be perfect holy divine communion. Ethical decision-making is about seeking Holy Communion with God and Holy Communion with each other. It means that we each have to give up a part of our own longings and desires to be together as God’s people, and to be a part of his body, in Christ.
This is not to say that we are to give up our human dignity, for human dignity is nothing less that image and likeness of God in us. Thus, we strive and fight “for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being,” as our baptismal covenant states. We stand against the evil forces that drive a wedge between us as a people and between us and our creator; we stand against the powers and dominions of this world that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God; and we stand against our own sinful desires that draw us from God’s love and break the bonds of our communion with each other.
Christ our God set before us the pattern of Christian ethical decision-making, namely to honour the divine, creative life in each one of us, not by turning to self, but turning outward to others, and upward to God the Father. True, authentic, divine selfhood is free from selfishness.
In and of ourselves, we are incapable of such divine selfhood; yet, in Christ, we learn what true selfhood is. In him we find our identity, and in him we live and move and have our being. And in communion with each other around his holy altar we dwell in him and he in us.
Thus, the answer to making ethical decisions is not always to simply ask what would Jesus do (although that is never a bad place to start), but perhaps to ask what he wouldn’t do. He would not turn stones to bread. He would not take the Lordship of the world for himself. He would not test God to save him from the time of trial. Tempting, and good as these things might have been, to have done them would have been to place his love of self ahead of his love for the world and his love for his Father in Heaven. Jesus knew who he was and what he wouldn’t do, because he knew that there is no greater love than that a man should lay down his life for his friend.
c. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Where the Heart of God Resides - A Homily for Ash Wednesday
Homily for Ash Wednesday
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
“Where your treasure is, there your heart will also be”
-- Matthew 6:21
The annual exhortation to fasting, almsgiving, and prayer is upon us. Annually we read Jesus’ admonition to go about this work and devotion quietly, in private, without making a fuss. We are not to make a show of our almsgiving, we are not to be ostentatious in our praying, and we are not to disfigure our faces so that other will see we are fasting. And yet, here we are kneeling in prayer, confessing our faults publicly, receiving the imposition of ashes, which we shall wear out into the streets as a sign that Lent is once again upon us. There is a dissonance in all of this, is there not?
I recently spoke with a gentleman who told me that as a child, he was told all good Anglicans wiped the cross off their foreheads when they left church on Ash Wednesday, unlike those terrible Catholics who wore their ashes with pride throughout the day for all to see. Was this really Catholic pride and was this really Protestant humility. I doubt it very much. I think that the pious Catholic had a very different motive, and that the Protestant was little more than an iconoclast. Yes, at first glance there seems to be a dissonance in what we do today with the words of Jesus, but as we explore both the words of Jesus and our response more deeply, I think that we shall come to a deeper understanding than the caricatures of proud Catholics and humble Protestants.
Where is your heart? This is the question that Jesus is asking us. The admonition against practicing our piety before others is really about the state of our heart. Do we long for praise, acknowledgement, recognition, and reward? Jesus is warning us that sometimes the outward trappings of our religious practice are served up to meet that oh so human need for approval. We long to be liked, respected, and admired; yet we are fundamentally insecure creatures. We store up rewards on earth, we display our strength, our perfection, and our wealth before others in order that we might convince people that we are all right. And more than all right, we are perfect. What does this say about our hearts? It suggests that there is something missing and that we are trying fill that void or mend that wound with external trappings. These things are all on the outside, though. That is not where our heart is meant to be.
As with many of the sayings of Jesus in St. Matthew’s Gospel, choices are often presented as stark opposites. There is a temptation here to read the words of Jesus in simplistic terms, but viewed amongst the varied woven tapestry that is the Holy Scriptures, we sometimes admonished to wear our faith on our sleeves, as Jesus says elsewhere in the Gospel of Matthew, “Do not hide your light under a bushel,” whilst in other places, like today’s passage from the same gospel, he encourages us to practice our piety in secret. The corollary of all this must be not that outward piety is bad and inward piety is good, or vice versa, depending on the passage you read; rather the corollary must be that with our hearts set on the things of God, the inward and outward life of faith will both fall into place.
Consider an analogy. Think for a moment of a close relationship that you share with someone, a spouse, a dear friend and confidant, a family member, or even a counselor, spiritual director or priest. Any intimate relationship will be multi-layered and multi-faceted. In the intimacy of a relationship there are things that you will share with each other that you will not share with the rest of the world. There are some things that are meant only for the two of you and your personal intimacy. And that is just fine. At the same time, any intimate relationship will bear fruit in the world, and there will be things about your relationship that will be shared and celebrated with the community around you. We celebrate our relationships and covenants both privately and publicly. If our hearts are set aright on the good and we live our covenant relationships faithfully, then where are hearts are, there too will be our treasure. Wherever we live out depths of covenant love and friendship with authenticity, there we will experience richness and blessing. The same is true of our life of faith. The sign of the cross in ash upon our foreheads, giving to those in need, and being intentional about our public prayer is the external fruit of living out a deep and intimate relationship with a loving God.
There is one hitch, though, and that is where we come to this day, Ash Wednesday. Try as we might, sinners that we are, we are prone to break covenants, betray confidence, hurt those we love and with whom we share our deepest intimacy. We often use our intimate relationships for selfish gain and in doing so we can cause great harm to those we love, and to ourselves. It seems to me that this is what Jesus is speaking about. Thus, when we use the disciplines of prayer, fasting and almsgiving to direct attention to ourselves rather than nurture the deep intimacy of heart speaking to heart, we abuse the sacred mystery of humanity and the divine touching each other.
But herein we encounter the good news, as well. It is not humanity that has reached the heavens and touched God, rather it is God who has reached down and touched humanity. In the Word made flesh, God has placed his heart amongst his people. The heart of God is where is treasure is, and we are his treasure. In spite of all the ways we abuse his holy religion, in spite of all the ways we take advantage of his intimate presence for our own aggrandizement, God still counts us his treasure enough to place his heart amongst us. God longs for a loving relationship with his people, and persists again and again, even as we turn again and again from his intimacy and love.
Thus, to keep a holy Lent is not about whether or not we wear a cross proudly or wipe it away humbly, it is asking about where our heart will be, in the midst of the more profound reality of where God’s heart already is. In the intimacy of hearts meeting, human and divine, we will know treasure in the depths of our being and treasure in our common life with all God’s children.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Matthew 6:1-6,16-21
“Where your treasure is, there your heart will also be”
-- Matthew 6:21
The annual exhortation to fasting, almsgiving, and prayer is upon us. Annually we read Jesus’ admonition to go about this work and devotion quietly, in private, without making a fuss. We are not to make a show of our almsgiving, we are not to be ostentatious in our praying, and we are not to disfigure our faces so that other will see we are fasting. And yet, here we are kneeling in prayer, confessing our faults publicly, receiving the imposition of ashes, which we shall wear out into the streets as a sign that Lent is once again upon us. There is a dissonance in all of this, is there not?
I recently spoke with a gentleman who told me that as a child, he was told all good Anglicans wiped the cross off their foreheads when they left church on Ash Wednesday, unlike those terrible Catholics who wore their ashes with pride throughout the day for all to see. Was this really Catholic pride and was this really Protestant humility. I doubt it very much. I think that the pious Catholic had a very different motive, and that the Protestant was little more than an iconoclast. Yes, at first glance there seems to be a dissonance in what we do today with the words of Jesus, but as we explore both the words of Jesus and our response more deeply, I think that we shall come to a deeper understanding than the caricatures of proud Catholics and humble Protestants.
Where is your heart? This is the question that Jesus is asking us. The admonition against practicing our piety before others is really about the state of our heart. Do we long for praise, acknowledgement, recognition, and reward? Jesus is warning us that sometimes the outward trappings of our religious practice are served up to meet that oh so human need for approval. We long to be liked, respected, and admired; yet we are fundamentally insecure creatures. We store up rewards on earth, we display our strength, our perfection, and our wealth before others in order that we might convince people that we are all right. And more than all right, we are perfect. What does this say about our hearts? It suggests that there is something missing and that we are trying fill that void or mend that wound with external trappings. These things are all on the outside, though. That is not where our heart is meant to be.
As with many of the sayings of Jesus in St. Matthew’s Gospel, choices are often presented as stark opposites. There is a temptation here to read the words of Jesus in simplistic terms, but viewed amongst the varied woven tapestry that is the Holy Scriptures, we sometimes admonished to wear our faith on our sleeves, as Jesus says elsewhere in the Gospel of Matthew, “Do not hide your light under a bushel,” whilst in other places, like today’s passage from the same gospel, he encourages us to practice our piety in secret. The corollary of all this must be not that outward piety is bad and inward piety is good, or vice versa, depending on the passage you read; rather the corollary must be that with our hearts set on the things of God, the inward and outward life of faith will both fall into place.
Consider an analogy. Think for a moment of a close relationship that you share with someone, a spouse, a dear friend and confidant, a family member, or even a counselor, spiritual director or priest. Any intimate relationship will be multi-layered and multi-faceted. In the intimacy of a relationship there are things that you will share with each other that you will not share with the rest of the world. There are some things that are meant only for the two of you and your personal intimacy. And that is just fine. At the same time, any intimate relationship will bear fruit in the world, and there will be things about your relationship that will be shared and celebrated with the community around you. We celebrate our relationships and covenants both privately and publicly. If our hearts are set aright on the good and we live our covenant relationships faithfully, then where are hearts are, there too will be our treasure. Wherever we live out depths of covenant love and friendship with authenticity, there we will experience richness and blessing. The same is true of our life of faith. The sign of the cross in ash upon our foreheads, giving to those in need, and being intentional about our public prayer is the external fruit of living out a deep and intimate relationship with a loving God.
There is one hitch, though, and that is where we come to this day, Ash Wednesday. Try as we might, sinners that we are, we are prone to break covenants, betray confidence, hurt those we love and with whom we share our deepest intimacy. We often use our intimate relationships for selfish gain and in doing so we can cause great harm to those we love, and to ourselves. It seems to me that this is what Jesus is speaking about. Thus, when we use the disciplines of prayer, fasting and almsgiving to direct attention to ourselves rather than nurture the deep intimacy of heart speaking to heart, we abuse the sacred mystery of humanity and the divine touching each other.
But herein we encounter the good news, as well. It is not humanity that has reached the heavens and touched God, rather it is God who has reached down and touched humanity. In the Word made flesh, God has placed his heart amongst his people. The heart of God is where is treasure is, and we are his treasure. In spite of all the ways we abuse his holy religion, in spite of all the ways we take advantage of his intimate presence for our own aggrandizement, God still counts us his treasure enough to place his heart amongst us. God longs for a loving relationship with his people, and persists again and again, even as we turn again and again from his intimacy and love.
Thus, to keep a holy Lent is not about whether or not we wear a cross proudly or wipe it away humbly, it is asking about where our heart will be, in the midst of the more profound reality of where God’s heart already is. In the intimacy of hearts meeting, human and divine, we will know treasure in the depths of our being and treasure in our common life with all God’s children.
c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Letting Down the Nets - A Homily for Proper 5 Year C 2010
Homily for Proper 5, Year C, 2010
Sunday, Feb 7th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 5:1-11
“Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”
--Luke 5:4
Whether or not we enjoy fishing, most of us enjoy a good fishing story. Several years ago, I regularly visited one hundred year old man named Duncan. In his younger days, Duncan loved to fish. Not surprisingly, given his confinement to a wheelchair and his residency in a nursing home, Duncan had come to believe that his fishing days were long behind him. However, for his one hundredth birthday, his son and son-in-law took him to a well-stocked fishing pond, lifted him from his chair into a boat, and drifted out over the water, and for the first time in many years, Duncan fished. When I visited him he told me about pulling fish after fish out of the water. It was the best birthday present a man could have, he said. Duncan and I concluded our visit as we always did, with Communion from the reserved sacrament. Before we shared in Holy Communion I decided to read for him the fishing story from John 21, a passage quite similar to the story we read today in Luke 5. After hearing of Peter casting his net over the right side of the boat and hauling to shore one hundred and fifty three large fish, Duncan exclaimed, “Now that’s a fishing story!” At that moment, the Scriptures came alive for him in a special way. The disciples then shared in a meal of bread and fish with their risen master, and Duncan and I shared in a meal of bread and wine with the same risen Lord.
In the fifth chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel we hear of a similar story, yet this story takes place at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, rather than after his resurrection. The crowd has pressed in about Jesus and he has to get into the boat of some fishermen, who were ashore washing their nets, just so that he can get some distance from the crowd and teach them. Just off of the shore, in full view and in good voice, Jesus now begins to share his message with the crowd. After he had finished teaching he turned to Simon the fisherman, a man with whom he had some acquaintance, for he had recently healed Simon’s mother-in-law, and said to him, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon was skeptical. All night they had caught nothing. Was the area fished out? Had someone scared all the fish away? Was it not the right time of day or night? Perhaps we shall never know, but we do know all the usual fishing excuses. Yet, in spite of all his experience as a fisherman, and against his best instincts, Simon obeyed. And what happened next? The nets were so full that they began to break. They caught so many fish that all the fishing boats were filled and began to sink. As my friend Duncan might have said, “Now that’s a fishing story!”
The story does not end there, though, for when Simon Peter saw what was happening he fell down before the Lord and wept, repenting of his arrogance that had previously kept him from drawing in such a hearty catch, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” Jesus did not leave him though, rather, in his gentle but challenging way addressed him, “Fear not, my friend from now on you shall fish for men.” Simon Peter, James and John then left everything and followed him.
A fishing story indeed.
The truth is, of course, that this story has nothing to do with fishing, but everything to do with following Jesus and living out his mission in the world. This story could equally be told about a people living in a suburban Canadian community. These people live in relatively wealthy community; they have decent jobs, or are comfortably retired. They have devoted their lives to working hard both for their families, and for their community. They have a lovely little church that has served the community well for nearly two hundred years, indeed, it may be one of the oldest churches in the country. But a sense of sadness hangs over these people because the world has changed so much; their community has changed so much. They do everything they can to preserve the way of life they love so much, have worked so hard for, and have known so well. Yet, the nets seem to come up empty. The demographics of the community have changed drastically, or to put it another way, the fish seem to have relocated. Some will say in despair that the area is “fished out.” Others will suggest that like good fishermen, we just have to wait it out, be patient, the fish will come back. Someone else will suggest that we need different bait. Another will say that maybe we should try fishing at a different time of day or night. Others yet will simply assume that our fishing days are long behind us. All the old fishing excuses are trotted out and no matter what we try, the nets come up empty.
There is one thing that we so often overlook, though, and that is who is in the boat with us. The disciples fished day and night and their nets came up empty. They tried every fresh approach they could imagine, and they used every fishing excuse in the book, but the nets were still empty. Maybe it was time to pull the boat ashore and find a different pond. Maybe their fishing days were behind them.
Or, maybe there was something they were overlooking.
With Jesus in the boat with them, with his voice, his instruction, and with his presence amongst them, they cast their nets and they came up full, so full that the boats began to sink.
You may expect me now to suggest that if only we had Jesus with us in the boat that is called Holy Trinity, Thornhill, the catch would be bounteous. I will not suggest this, though, because Jesus our Lord is with us. He has never left the boat. What I will suggest is that we sometimes fail to recognize this reality; sometimes we forget that we have him as a captain. What I will suggest is that we spend a lot of time trotting out all the old fishing excuses as to why the nets are not full. What I will suggest is that if we let go of our excuses for a moment, as Simon Peter did, and let down our nets into the deep water of our community, that we might just be surprised at the catch we shall pull in. If we listen to his voice, we might just be surprised that the waters have not been fished out, that the fish have not gone away, that we are not fishing at the wrong time of day or in the wrong place, that our fishing days are not behind us. If we listen to his voice we may just be surprised.
What is Jesus saying to us?
He is saying stop making excuses; let down the net where you are. In spite of what you might think, there is deep water here. Don’t wait for the perfect conditions, or the perfect location. Fish on the pond or the lake on which you find yourself, there is deep water here. Whether it is a the country club or community centre; whether it is with your children and grandchildren or around the bridge table; whether you are at the cottage or on a cruise; these are the waters into which Jesus says, “cast your net.” And if the words of Jesus aren’t good enough for you, let me quote a Nike advertisement, “Just do it!”
Jesus is saying don’t be afraid! As Anglicans this may seem frightening, but no one is asking you give anyone the hard sell. Simply be willing to claim the fact that you are a Christian person. Our Jewish and Muslim brothers and sisters are not afraid to claim their identities, let us not be afraid to claim ours. Be willing to say why you are a Christian and why it matters to you, not in an arrogant or boastful way, but with honesty and love. After all we are not trying to get someone to buy something; we are talking about the love of God for a broken world. If we at Holy Trinity learned anything from Back to Church Sunday, it’s that the roof does not cave in when we invite a friend to church! Back to Church Sunday is not just once a year (or Christmas and Easter). Back to Church Sunday is every Sunday! Cast your net and invite a friend, follow up with someone you invited on Back to Church Sunday, or someone you know who comes only on Christmas and Easter. “Do not be afraid – cast your net!” This isn’t Father Dan or Canon Greg that are telling you this, it’s Jesus – they’re his words, not ours.
Finally, the text today is telling us to kneel before our Lord in humility as Peter did. Peter realized that he was trying to fish under his own strength and when he own strategy did not work, he made excuses. Yet, in a moment of grace, he listened to the voice of his Lord and cast down the net into the deep waters where he was and it came back to him full. When he realized that his sinful arrogance had hindered rather than helped him, he fell down and wept. We, too, must repent before the Lord for thinking that the kingdom is a thing of our own making, that it is all up to us and our church growth programs and designs. We must repent for our fishing excuses, and then receive his gracious forgiveness.
What shall we do then? Listen and obey, let down our nets into the deep water of this community, and let the Lord do the rest. That won’t just be a fishing story, that will be a kingdom story.
c. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Sunday, Feb 7th, 2010
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Luke 5:1-11
“Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”
--Luke 5:4
Whether or not we enjoy fishing, most of us enjoy a good fishing story. Several years ago, I regularly visited one hundred year old man named Duncan. In his younger days, Duncan loved to fish. Not surprisingly, given his confinement to a wheelchair and his residency in a nursing home, Duncan had come to believe that his fishing days were long behind him. However, for his one hundredth birthday, his son and son-in-law took him to a well-stocked fishing pond, lifted him from his chair into a boat, and drifted out over the water, and for the first time in many years, Duncan fished. When I visited him he told me about pulling fish after fish out of the water. It was the best birthday present a man could have, he said. Duncan and I concluded our visit as we always did, with Communion from the reserved sacrament. Before we shared in Holy Communion I decided to read for him the fishing story from John 21, a passage quite similar to the story we read today in Luke 5. After hearing of Peter casting his net over the right side of the boat and hauling to shore one hundred and fifty three large fish, Duncan exclaimed, “Now that’s a fishing story!” At that moment, the Scriptures came alive for him in a special way. The disciples then shared in a meal of bread and fish with their risen master, and Duncan and I shared in a meal of bread and wine with the same risen Lord.
In the fifth chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel we hear of a similar story, yet this story takes place at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, rather than after his resurrection. The crowd has pressed in about Jesus and he has to get into the boat of some fishermen, who were ashore washing their nets, just so that he can get some distance from the crowd and teach them. Just off of the shore, in full view and in good voice, Jesus now begins to share his message with the crowd. After he had finished teaching he turned to Simon the fisherman, a man with whom he had some acquaintance, for he had recently healed Simon’s mother-in-law, and said to him, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon was skeptical. All night they had caught nothing. Was the area fished out? Had someone scared all the fish away? Was it not the right time of day or night? Perhaps we shall never know, but we do know all the usual fishing excuses. Yet, in spite of all his experience as a fisherman, and against his best instincts, Simon obeyed. And what happened next? The nets were so full that they began to break. They caught so many fish that all the fishing boats were filled and began to sink. As my friend Duncan might have said, “Now that’s a fishing story!”
The story does not end there, though, for when Simon Peter saw what was happening he fell down before the Lord and wept, repenting of his arrogance that had previously kept him from drawing in such a hearty catch, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” Jesus did not leave him though, rather, in his gentle but challenging way addressed him, “Fear not, my friend from now on you shall fish for men.” Simon Peter, James and John then left everything and followed him.
A fishing story indeed.
The truth is, of course, that this story has nothing to do with fishing, but everything to do with following Jesus and living out his mission in the world. This story could equally be told about a people living in a suburban Canadian community. These people live in relatively wealthy community; they have decent jobs, or are comfortably retired. They have devoted their lives to working hard both for their families, and for their community. They have a lovely little church that has served the community well for nearly two hundred years, indeed, it may be one of the oldest churches in the country. But a sense of sadness hangs over these people because the world has changed so much; their community has changed so much. They do everything they can to preserve the way of life they love so much, have worked so hard for, and have known so well. Yet, the nets seem to come up empty. The demographics of the community have changed drastically, or to put it another way, the fish seem to have relocated. Some will say in despair that the area is “fished out.” Others will suggest that like good fishermen, we just have to wait it out, be patient, the fish will come back. Someone else will suggest that we need different bait. Another will say that maybe we should try fishing at a different time of day or night. Others yet will simply assume that our fishing days are long behind us. All the old fishing excuses are trotted out and no matter what we try, the nets come up empty.
There is one thing that we so often overlook, though, and that is who is in the boat with us. The disciples fished day and night and their nets came up empty. They tried every fresh approach they could imagine, and they used every fishing excuse in the book, but the nets were still empty. Maybe it was time to pull the boat ashore and find a different pond. Maybe their fishing days were behind them.
Or, maybe there was something they were overlooking.
With Jesus in the boat with them, with his voice, his instruction, and with his presence amongst them, they cast their nets and they came up full, so full that the boats began to sink.
You may expect me now to suggest that if only we had Jesus with us in the boat that is called Holy Trinity, Thornhill, the catch would be bounteous. I will not suggest this, though, because Jesus our Lord is with us. He has never left the boat. What I will suggest is that we sometimes fail to recognize this reality; sometimes we forget that we have him as a captain. What I will suggest is that we spend a lot of time trotting out all the old fishing excuses as to why the nets are not full. What I will suggest is that if we let go of our excuses for a moment, as Simon Peter did, and let down our nets into the deep water of our community, that we might just be surprised at the catch we shall pull in. If we listen to his voice, we might just be surprised that the waters have not been fished out, that the fish have not gone away, that we are not fishing at the wrong time of day or in the wrong place, that our fishing days are not behind us. If we listen to his voice we may just be surprised.
What is Jesus saying to us?
He is saying stop making excuses; let down the net where you are. In spite of what you might think, there is deep water here. Don’t wait for the perfect conditions, or the perfect location. Fish on the pond or the lake on which you find yourself, there is deep water here. Whether it is a the country club or community centre; whether it is with your children and grandchildren or around the bridge table; whether you are at the cottage or on a cruise; these are the waters into which Jesus says, “cast your net.” And if the words of Jesus aren’t good enough for you, let me quote a Nike advertisement, “Just do it!”
Jesus is saying don’t be afraid! As Anglicans this may seem frightening, but no one is asking you give anyone the hard sell. Simply be willing to claim the fact that you are a Christian person. Our Jewish and Muslim brothers and sisters are not afraid to claim their identities, let us not be afraid to claim ours. Be willing to say why you are a Christian and why it matters to you, not in an arrogant or boastful way, but with honesty and love. After all we are not trying to get someone to buy something; we are talking about the love of God for a broken world. If we at Holy Trinity learned anything from Back to Church Sunday, it’s that the roof does not cave in when we invite a friend to church! Back to Church Sunday is not just once a year (or Christmas and Easter). Back to Church Sunday is every Sunday! Cast your net and invite a friend, follow up with someone you invited on Back to Church Sunday, or someone you know who comes only on Christmas and Easter. “Do not be afraid – cast your net!” This isn’t Father Dan or Canon Greg that are telling you this, it’s Jesus – they’re his words, not ours.
Finally, the text today is telling us to kneel before our Lord in humility as Peter did. Peter realized that he was trying to fish under his own strength and when he own strategy did not work, he made excuses. Yet, in a moment of grace, he listened to the voice of his Lord and cast down the net into the deep waters where he was and it came back to him full. When he realized that his sinful arrogance had hindered rather than helped him, he fell down and wept. We, too, must repent before the Lord for thinking that the kingdom is a thing of our own making, that it is all up to us and our church growth programs and designs. We must repent for our fishing excuses, and then receive his gracious forgiveness.
What shall we do then? Listen and obey, let down our nets into the deep water of this community, and let the Lord do the rest. That won’t just be a fishing story, that will be a kingdom story.
c. 2010 the Rev. Daniel F. Graves
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