Posted by stpauls on February 25, 2009 under Sermons | 
During the height of Roman rule, the Roman Empire and all connected to it seemed to be invincible. Roman armies conquered nations that some had never even heard of. In ancient Europe, Roman roads connected people from one corner of the “world” to another. Roman trade provided for income, economic growth and luxury that earlier generations could not imagine. Roman law ruled over people too many to count. Rome operated on a scale that could only be termed in superlatives. There was nothing that seemed to threaten Rome’s power. There was nothing that seemed to endanger the privileges of Roman citizens. There was nothing that seemed to jeopardize the wealth and status of Rome. To top it all off, the Roman Emperor was seen as invincible, as a god living among mere mortals.
Yet, even during these times of experienced superiority, there were moments that put question marks around the supposed omnipotence of the Empire: When a Roman general – after a victory for the Empire – was parading through the streets of Rome, a slave would be standing behind him, holding a Laurel Wreath above his head for all to see the general’s power – and the power of Rome. Into the ear of the general, however, the slave would whisper: “Respice post te! Hominem te esse memento!” – “Look behind you. Remember that you are but a human!” Or, sometimes the slave would be even more crass and would just say: “Memento mori”- “Remember that you are mortal!”
When a general and his army were drunk with victory, when they seemed invincibile, the slave’s role was clear: Remember that you are a mere mortal, that one day, you will have to die. Remember that you cannot add a single hour to the span of your life1. Remember that you are not all-powerful, not almighty, not everliving. Remember that even the mighty Roman Empire can fall.
And it did. Eventually, the armies of the Empire could not hold back the rage beyond its borders. Eventually, the wealth and luxury could not be maintained. Eventually, it all collapsed taking with it a huge human carnage. The Empire did not last for ever.
Memento Mori. Remember that you will die.
Memento Mori. This was a genre of artistic creations that served to remind people of their own mortality. Painters, for example, would add skulls to their pictures. In the Middle ages, churches would erect statues of a man who on the front was young, vibrant, and luxuriously clad, yet from the back was a decaying corpse. The most famous Memento Mori is “the Dance of Death” or Danse Macabre: a painted allegory to remind us all of the universality of death: In the Danse Macabre, skeletons would lead humanity – including emperors, popes, princes, bishops, damsels, merchants, priests, farmers, monks, nuns, beggars, and children – would lead them all to the grave.
Memento Mori. Remember you will die.
Today, we will engage in something that is not dissimilar from Memento Mori. In a short while, I will invite you to receive an ashen cross on your forehead. During the imposition, you will hear these words: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return. Eleven simple words that serve the same purpose as the words uttered into the ear of a Roman general: Remember that you are a mere mortal and that one day will be your last.
But, let’s be careful! It would be far too easy to make this a rather morbid and depressing moment in the liturgical life of the church. Can we have one nice Lent for crying out loud?! This is not an occasion where we should be handing out Prozac instead of bread and wine!
The Memento Mori is not an enemy of life, celebrating death for death’s sake. This is not a morbid streak within Christianity, no secret death-wishes. What the Memento Mori is trying to do, and what our Ash Wednesday imposition of ashes is trying to do is this: To counteract any sense that we are in charge; that we are the masters and mistresses of our own life; that we are indeed invincible and can maintain our power bases for all eternity; and that money, success and other worldy goods are the things that matter.
Ash Wednesday and Memento Mori teach us to look for the foundations of our human existence. What the words spoken at the imposition of ashes are trying to do is to turn us away from things that one day will vanish and to re-focus us on what really matters. And on the one thing that really does matter, which is life, the most precious of all the gifts from the Creator. By acknowledging that we are mortal, we acknowledge that life is precious – in both meanings of the word: life is “precious,” because it is fragile and can end at any second. And life is above all “precious,” because it is beautiful, and wonderful, and awesome, and special, and it is to be lived in ways that do not accumulate possessions, that do not focus on success as the world defines it, and that do not wait for the big fulfillment in the future or even in a life hereafter. Life is indeed a precious gift from God to be celebrated with gusto and to be embraced with intent.
This is why I believe God became one of us in Jesus Christ. The incarnation, God’s coming into human flesh, validates the preciousness of the human experience as it embraces human life, as it embraces even human death. Both our lives and our deaths do not remain God-less anymore. Both our lives and deaths matter to God. And both our lives and deaths should honour the one who was willing to live and die as one of us.
Today, we acknowledge that God is with us, both in our living and in our dying. Today, we are reminded that we cannot just go on as if our lives or as if the lives of those around us do not matter. Today, we acknowledge that God is in control and that life, this most precious gift from God, is to be lived in such a way that it celebrates the Creator, that it celebrates all of creation and all creatures great and small, and that it celebrates life itself.
We live, yet again, in times that are uncertain, that are scary and that cause much pain around the world. We are in the midst of the demise of yet another empire, and God only knows when this will end. But as Christians we cannot just turn away, stick our heads in the sand, and ignore the responsibilities we have for the preciousness and the beauty of life all around us. We know that the world’s power cannot claim us forever. It has no eternal power. It is dust, and to dust it will return. Our God, though, has overcome death and has gifted us each with life in all its beauty. As we begin this journey of Lent, let us not give up on this beauty, let us not give up on life, and let us not give up on God. Let us remember instead that life is God’s precious gift, and that God is with us, in life, in death, and beyond our death.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Ash Wednesday, February 25, 2009.]
Footnote 1 cf. Matthew 6.27
Posted by stpauls on February 22, 2009 under Sermons |
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was an Anglican cathedral, built in Gothic splendour, telling the story of salvation through its statues and windows, and pursuing the mission of the church to reconcile with God and with one another in Christ Jesus through its ministry. The services in this church were meaningful, profound, beautiful and rather stately; very Anglican, of course. There was a lot offered in this cathedral for aching souls. People from close by and far away would come, not only on Sunday mornings, but throughout the week. They would sit in a pew, grab the prayerbook, maybe a hymnal and a bulletin; they would sing and pray, maybe even receive communion; and then they would go home afterwards, spiritually strengthened to meet the days, or weeks ahead. It was, as I said, all very Anglican.
One Sunday morning, however, this routine was disturbed. A woman had come to church and sat to the front of the Cathedral, rather close to the pulpit. Now, this was not news in itself. A number of strangers would come every Sunday and would leave afterwards. It was a place you could drop in and out of quite easily. That was what people came for and the congregation was not only used to it; the members of the congregation rather liked it that way.
This particular morning, the preacher spoke with particular eloquence and spiritual insight. Elevated above everybody else, the priest offered real sustenance for the soul from her pulpit. Her sermon hit right where it mattered. And the stranger, the woman sitting right in front of her, right underneath her, was moved deeply. But, and this is where things got out of hand, she was not just moved inside, privately, all by herself. No, this stranger, this newcomer made her feelings heard! Quite frequently, she would exclaim with “Yes!”, or with “Amen!”, or with a quite audible “Preach it, sister!” And the priest was very much embarrassed!
Eventually, one of the ushers acted. Slowly, in a very stately manner, in a very Anglican way, he moved forward. He sat down next to the woman and tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I have to ask you to calm down or leave. Please keep it down. We just don’t get that excited here.”
Of course, this is an anecdote and probably a myth that never happened. But just like any myth, it reveals the truth and it challenges us. The obvious truth that gets revealed in this little story is that it is true what many think of the Anglican Church: “We are ‘God’s frozen chosen.’ We are few and far between, and when you come to our church, please act appropriately. Be polite and respectable, thank you very much.”
But I think there is something much more profound going on in this little anecdote, besides the ridiculing of our Anglo-Saxon cultural heritage. We cannot step out of who we are culturally – and neither should we. The challenge, however, that we do need to listen to is this: Far too often, we Anglicans view church as a private affair, something that is kept between ourselves and God. We come, we listen, and we join in the prescribed prayers. And then we go home to go about our business. This is all very passive. We become recipients of religious insight. Spirituality is degraded to a spectator sport. There might be reconciliation with our triune God, but reconciliation, or any deep, or profound, or appropriately intimate interaction with those with whom we share the pews does not, cannot happen. “Keep it to down, keep it to yourself,” the usher tells the strange woman. “Keep it all private, contained, and personal.”
I have never understood why so many Christians think matters of religion are only private and personal matters, contained in one’s own heart and soul. It definitely doesn’t come from God’s self-revelation in the words of our sacred texts. Take today’s Gospel account for example.
Mark places today’s story in the midst of the public ministry of Jesus. Jesus is traveling the countryside and healing people in body and mind. Yet, Jesus is not a faith-healer – of whom there were many in Jesus’ times. For Jesus’ healing is not about curing; it is not primarily about physical manifestations of what is wrong with us, but about a holistic approach to healing. Jesus heals in body, mind, and soul. Jesus restores people to wholeness and to the beauty intended for them by God. This is why he tells people to be quiet, because these are one-on-ones with the one who opens the doors into life abundant and life eternal. These healings are about personal encounters with the living God manifest in Jesus of Nazareth.
It does not stop there, however.
Right in the midst of all these healing accounts, Jesus takes a group of disciples up the mountain. And he takes them one by one. And one by one they see what happens if we let ourselves be led by the Son of God to a mountaintop. We recognize him for who he is as he is transfigured before our eyes. Jesus is not just another quack. He is also not just another sage, another wise man, another prophet. But in him, by him, and through him, God’s light shines into the world. Jesus is the Christ, the beloved of God. When we listen to him, the uncreated light that shines forth from the divine mystery will penetrate us also in body, mind, and soul, and will heal us and restore us to our rightful places at the banquet table in God’s reign.
And this is where the shift happens as the story continues.
The disciples might have been led up the mountain one by one, as individuals, but they are coming down the mountain as a group, as a community, as those in communion not just with God, but also with one another. The Transfiguration they witnessed on the mountain top transfigured them and restored them to health in body, mind, and soul, and also to health in their relationships with one another. The result of the encounter with the Uncreated Light is not just personal: it is also communal. There is a vertical component to the healing brought about in the transfiguration as we become one with God, one with His will. But there is a horizontal component as the disciples – and we with them – overcome the barriers that divide us and as we become responsible one for another.
This is at the heart of who we are as Christians. Both the vertical and the horizontal component are equally important: Full communion with God cannot be possible without striving for justice and peace among even the least of our sisters and brothers. And no full communion among ourselves can be achieved if we don’t let God restore us to our true identity, to the beauty that God intends for us. The Christian life is not just a life of ongoing conversion to the will of God, but it is also a life that is deeply communal, with responsibilities for the welfare of those beside us.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and one of the greatest of the 21st century prophets, who was martyred by the Nazis in 1945, once said: “We all become disciples individually, but no one then stays alone. No one stays alone.”
Of course, there are many whose hurt is so deep that communal responsibilities are not an option quite yet. And those who are hurting in body, mind, or soul are always welcome in this sacred place, because healing can be found here, God’s healing.
There is a painting inside St. Mary’s Episcopal Cathedral in Edinburgh in Scotland. It is a view of the entire nave of the cathedral from the entrance to the East End. Up front, just before you come to the High Altar, the painter painted the choir singing praises to God, probably during an Evensong. And it is bright and light up there. The light of the Transfiguration really shines through from this most Anglican worship. I know that I am not the only one whose experience of Evensong at St. Mary’s has nurtured me in my faith and ultimately made me an Anglican.
In the back, however, just behind the last pew, a woman kneels in pain. She is hunched over and a heavy burden weighs her down. The pews would obstruct her from the rest of those worshipping. However, she is not alone. Jesus is with her, holding her, embracing her, caring for her, and healing her.
I know this is how many experience St. Paul’s Anglican Church. It is a place they can come with whatever moves their hearts, whatever burdens their souls, whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey. And it is a place where they encounter the living Christ holding them, embracing them, caring for them, and healing them. And thank you, Jesus, for leading us to be such a place!
Yet, I hope that we will never forget that there is another dimension to our faith, to God’s healing, too. There is a horizontal aspect. We have to come down the mountain together, as a community in Christ. Our faith cannot remain personal, but must move us eventually into relationship with one another. Otherwise, it will just wither away.
This does not mean all will be hunky-dory then. Community-living is hard work; it brings profound challenges and can be nerve-wrecking. Ask any of our Anglican nuns or monks! But only together will we be able to shoulder the responsibilities that we have been given for the well-being of our neighbours in the West End and in Yaletown. Only together will we be able to live fully into the promises of God in Christ. Only together will we create a mission for this place that is nurturing and life-giving.
We are already on the way. Ministries such as our Altar Guild, the choir, the ushers, the liturgical ministers, the healing guild, or the ministry providing hospitality, care, and assistance in administrative tasks – which are equally important as our outreach projects – these ministries are strong and Spirit-filled. And I pray that through and by who we are and what we do, we will remain the Soul of the West End and the Spirit of Yaletown.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on February 22, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Webmaster Blog |
Mark 9:2-9 ~ Gospel reading for February 22, 2009
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus. As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
Posted by stpauls on February 20, 2009 under Webmaster Blog |
In other words, do you intinct or do you imbibe? Aren’t those interesting words? To intinct means to dip your wafer into the communion wine and to imbibe means to sip the wine from the chalice.
I’ve been intincting, i.e. I’ve been dipping my wafer into the wine at communion, rather than sipping from the communal chalice. It was a choice based on what I thought I knew about hygiene and the spreading of germs.
But now I hear that it’s actually more hygienic to sip the wine right from the chalice. Something to do with the alcohol in the wine and the silver content of the chalice killing the germs passing from our lips to the cup and the wine. Apparently, it’s been researched, but I can’t find that research. Does anyone know where that research can be found?
It’s also something to do with the high number of germs we have on our hands compared to the fewer number of germs we have on our lips. And there again, I’ve heard that some people dip their fingers – along with the wafer – right into the wine. Probably not at St. Paul’s though!
Nina, Webmaster
Posted by stpauls on February 17, 2009 under Webmaster Blog |
St. Paul’s Anglican Church Council – Markus Dünzkofer, the Wardens, and the Church Committee members – invited me to attend their monthly meeting on Tuesday, February 17. The whole evening was really interesting. First, the church was so full we couldn’t find a space to be: someone was playing the flute outside the labyrinth; a yoga group was meeting inside the labyrinth; brownies were gathered in the big hall; and a choir was practising in the church itself. Finally, we set up in the downstairs sanctuary.
The meeting began with bible study of Mark 9:2-9, the Gospel Reading for February 22, the last Sunday before Lent.
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.
As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
Each of the fifteen people at the meeting found something in the reading that struck them as interesting and commented on it. The phrase that struck me was “his clothes became dazzling white,” because I believe it was the transfigurement of Jesus shining right through his garments that made the clothes so white.
I gave my presentation, which was more or less Blogging 101, based on our website, which utilizes the Ministry Theme developed by eGrace Creative.
Posted by Priest on February 15, 2009 under Sermons |
It must have been a miserable day for him. Well, to be honest all his days were miserable. Ever since he had been diagnosed with the disease, with leprosy, he had lived a lonely life. According to the law, he was not allowed to interact with anybody, was not allowed to be with anybody, was not allowed to join others for even the most routine activities. The law had said that he was impure. And that was that. End of story.
I cannot imagine a life like this. Being totally shut off from everybody around. Not being able to reach out, not being able to be helped. Everybody shying, even running, away. And all of this because of God’s law, recorded in our holy Scriptures. It makes me uncomfortable, to say the least.
Despite knowing that we need to understand Scripture in its historical and cultural context, I find it hard to realize that our sacred texts were used to separate perfectly good people from the fold, just because of a disease. I understand there are questions of contagiousness to consider, but exclusion didn’t just happen for illnesses like leprosy. “Didn’t?” Past tense? As if it is over! I should change my tense. Because, let’s face it. It is still going on.
In the first stages of the AIDS-pandemic, in the early 1980s, people diagnosed with HIV usually died two deaths. The first death came long before the biological death. The first death was a social death. It was a death, not unlike the death the leper in today’s Gospel story experienced on a daily basis. After people had been diagnosed with this dreadful plague, many would shy away, would stop interacting with HIV-positive people. No more invitations to dinner parties. Pink slips in the mail. And medical staff would put on rubber gloves and masks.
Thank God, some things do change. I see God’s Spirit working in the simple fact that we can now have HIV-positive priests ministering among us, like Michael Forshaw, former honorary assistant here at St. Paul’s.
Yes, indeed. Thank God, some things do change. Some at least.
Still, too many of our Christian brothers and sisters view HIV/AIDS as God’s punishment for so-called deviant behaviour. Somehow, there is a prevalent view that maintains that sickness is the result of some wrongdoing.
I have shared this story with you before, but it is worth repeating: A friend of mine was once asked by a lay minster of her Baptist church after she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer: “So, what did you do to deserve this?” And when my friend did not answer this tasteless, insensitive, and outrageous question, the questioner, rather than stop, reconsider, and apologize, pressed on: “Well, there must be some unrepented sinful behaviour in your past for you to get cancer.”
And this could not just happen among Baptists!
Let me say this right away. Despite of what others might say, I do not believe that any disease or illness is God’s punishment for potential sinful behaviour. I do not believe God works this way. I cannot see how punishing us with disease would be part of God’s call to life, life-abundant and life-eternal. Anybody who ever read the biblical book of Job knows that bad things do happen to good people too!
But let me get back to today’s story from the Gospel according to Mark.
The leper, despite being very much alive, has experienced death already. It is the death of loneliness. Others, even friends and family shy away. In a time of desperate need, when closeness is most important, there is nobody to hug him, nobody to embrace him, or nobody to hold him close. Everybody just moves on. This is where we find our leper today.
Yet, it all turns around for him in a chance encounter.
The fascinating thing about the Gospel according to Mark, is that Jesus always seems to be in a hurry. There is a sense of urgency in this particular Gospel, and urgency that rushes with high speed through the life of Jesus to the culmination of the Gospel: Jesus’ death and resurrection. For Mark, it is not about the things leading up to these final moments. Jesus is not just some new prophet. But for Mark, this is the essential: God dies on a cross. The Gospel is not just a nice bedtime story, or a new ethical and moral code, or the collection of wise words by a teacher some time ago. But the Gospel talks about things that matters to who and what we are. The message of the Gospel is a matter of life and death.
The urgency within Mark is a stylistic device that tells us: “Don’t worry about secondary issues, focus rather on what is important. Focus on the coming into the world of the Son of God, focus on the manifestation of the reign of God in Jesus of Nazareth, and focus on how to join in building this reign.” In Mark, there is no time to get segued into quarrels about minor issues, segued into power games and power plays.
This is why today’s text is so incredibly special. Because, despite the hurry to fulfill his destination on Golgotha, Jesus stops. Jesus stops to take time out and to reach out. The well-being of the leper signifies something fundamentally important in the plan of salvation.
As I said, Mark does not concern himself with unimportant issues. The Gospel does not consider essential miracle-healings that celebrate the healer, which was more than common in first century Palestine and are still common in religious movements. Jesus is not a faith-healer, a quack. He is God’s revelation in the world. In Jesus, God says “yes” to who we are as God’s beloved. And this is why Jesus must stop as he sees a brother, a beloved child of God suffering, not only imprisoned by illness, but also excluded, reviled, and violated by the actions of those around him, who think they are not their brothers’ keepers since the Fall of Adam and Eve from Paradise.(See Footnote 1)
Jesus on the other hand does not care that the leper is an outsider. Jesus still stops to embrace this leper. Jesus stops in his track and focuses on what is most important. Jesus understands that he is his brother’s keeper, that the plan of salvation means breaking through loneliness and isolation, means eliminating all that harms us in soul, and in mind, and in body.
Sometimes, in the church, we get too busy with focusing on the wrong things. Sometimes, we spend all the energy debating how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, while we miss the very angels’ prodding us to work in God’s vineyard and to partake in building God’s reign of justice, peace, and love. Sometimes, even in the church, we engage in power struggles and name-calling. Sometimes, forgiveness and mercy have left the building. Sometimes, we don’t trust the person sitting next to us and we definitely do not trust those outside our precious church walls.
But is that really what the church is all about?
In recent years, many have lamented the demise of the church. Frankly, I believe the death of the church has been highly exaggerated. But I do believe that we have moved into a new era. An era that is post-Christendom. The church is not dead, but Christendom might be. And I believe this is not a bad thing. I believe it is a good thing, because it allows us to stop worrying about secondary things and allows us to focus on what is really important: i.e. the Gospel, the good news of God in Jesus Christ for all, for you, for me, and for everybody in creation.
This does not mean we should stop thinking theologically. Not all! In fact, we should be more theological, should be more looking at what our tradition and the depth of our faith have to teach us about the things that really matter: life in all its beauty, life abundant and life eternal. There really is no place in the mission of the church for secondary things such as internal struggles or cultural wars that try to define who is a proper Christian, a proper Anglican, or a proper member of St. Paul’s.
In the Book of Jeremiah, God calls us to seek the welfare of the city,(See Footnote 2) of all the city around us, and all that live therein, whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey, even when the city is alien or hostile. We are to minister to people from “all quarters” and we are to be a people from “all quarters,” as Mark puts it. The church’s raison d’être is the welfare of all, in soul, mind and body. All are welcome, all are welcome in this place to heal and to help building God’s reign.
We have everything needed to witness to the Gospel in life-giving ways in this day and age – especially as Anglicans: Anglicanism, if true to its theological heritage, if true to the profound revelation of God’s love in Jesus Christ – Anglicanism is not about a church only for certain people, it is not about a cultural heritage or an alignment with the empire, whatever the empire of the day may be. But what makes us profoundly capable of meeting the challenges ahead is this: Anglicanism at its best, understands creation as intrinsically good. Anglicanism celebrates diversity as a gift from God. Anglicanism can identify God’s image even in the least of our sisters and brothers. Anglicanism realizes that heaven and hell are not realities in the life after death, but heaven and hell encompass our life even here and now. Above all, Anglicanism knows that God’s incarnation, God’s coming into the flesh in Jesus celebrates our existence, affirms our experience, and embraces us on our journey, whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves on the journey. We have a lot to offer to a world that is searching for meaning and yearning for healing. Too many of our brothers and sisters live in darkness, loneliness, and in illness of body, mind, and soul. Just like Jesus, let us stop. Let us take time. Let us reach out. And let us all become healers of the nations.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on February 15, 2009.]
Footnote 1 – cf. Genesis 4.9
Footnote 2 – Jeremiah 4.7
Posted by stpauls on under Staff Blog |
It is a long-held tradition to place icons of bishops close to the altar as a sign of the unity of the church throughout space and time and as a reminder of the sacramental nature of the church.
Unfortunately, though, there are no Eastern Orthodox icons of women-bishops, because the Eastern church has not yet heeded the movement of the Spirit that revealed the full inclusion of women in all aspects of ministry. There are, however, quasi-sacramental images of women even in the Christian East: On icons depicting St. Mary Magdalene, for example, she is described as the Apostle to the Apostles, because she proclaimed the good news of the resurrection to the disciples who had hidden in fear after the crucifixion. Mary Magdalene is the first to claim the apostolic office. She could easily be termed the first bishop of the church.
Similarly, all the women (Mary Magdalene included) who came to Jesus’ tomb on the first Easter morning, did so carrying myrrh, a spiced oil used to anoint for healing and to anoint the dead. They came to reveal love in the midst of darkness and death. This is, therefore, not just an act of obedience and love, but a deeply sacramental rite. Thus, the icon of The Myrrh-bearing Women is a profoundly sacramental image, not just celebrating the healing ministry of the church, but also the rightful place of women as presiders over the sacraments. The icon of The Myrrh-bearing Women balances the icon of The Three Hierarchs. Together, they unite men and women at the table.
Posted by Webmaster on under Bible Readings, Staff Blog |
Mark 1:40-45 ~ Gospel reading for February 15, 2009
A leper came to Jesus begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean.
After sternly warning him, he sent him away at once, saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.”
But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.
Posted by stpauls on February 13, 2009 under Webmaster Blog |
I was talking with a friend yesterday who did not understand the superstitions surrounding the bad luck of Friday the 13th. And so I explained it as I understand it. There were thirteen disciples. On the Friday that we now call Good Friday, the thirteenth disciple, Judas Escariot betrayed Jesus by indicating who he was to the Roman soldiers who then took Jesus away to be tried and found guilty. And to be crucified.
Yet, if Judas had not betrayed Jesus, where would Christianity be? Perhaps Judas’s unwelcome role, right from before he was born, was to be the betrayer. Unwelcome, yet essential within the fabric of Jesus’ life and death.
So, I see Friday the 13th as a day that has to happen. It has to fall between Thursday the 12th and Saturday the 14th. Not so much unlucky as unavoidable.
Nina, webmaster.
Markus Dünzkofer commented as follows: “This is not quite accurate. There were never 13 apostles. Judas was one of the twelve and was replaced with Mitthias after the tragic events around Jesus’ cruxifiction. In numerology, 13 is indeed irregular, but it is not because of the apostles. Just thought to let you know. If you want to know more, let me know.”
I’ve asked Markus to expand on this.
Nina, webmaster.
Posted by stpauls on February 8, 2009 under Sermons |
Over the last few weeks, a number of my non-church friends and acquaintances have asked me if I had time off during the holidays. What are they thinking? Christmas is one of our major festivals. Of course, I cannot take time off during this time!
The unique thing about St. Paul’s, however, is that even the week after Christmas isn’t quiet. It isn’t quiet at all. In fact, our largest Labyrinth event happens within a week of Christmas. On New Year’s Eve and on New Year’s Day, some 500 people come to mark the end of one calendar year and the beginning of a new one by walking the Labyrinth. Some 500 people! Isn’t this amazing?!
Labyrinth Guild and Labyrinth volunteers really have created an amazing and life-giving ministry here at St. Paul’s. It is a ministry that defines who we are as a community of faith and without which we would be different and quite impoverished. And I would also argue, it is a ministry – especially on December 31st and January 1st – without which the West End would be different and would be quite impoverished too. The Labyrinth is a ministry sine qua non; it is a ministry without which we and the West End would not be who we are.
I do not walk the Labyrinth on New Year’s Eve or New year’s Day. It is too busy. But I come and I watch. And every December 31st as the hands of the clock creep towards midnight I preside at the celebration of the Holy Eucharist in the centre of the Labyrinth and I offer to God ourselves, our lives, and our times.
It always amazes me who comes on these two special days: People from all walks of life, some familiar, some unknown, some regulars, some newcomers. All walk the Labyrinth and there is a genuine sense of awe and wonder – all in the presence of God.
This year, I was able to watch and take in the atmosphere of the Labyrinth Walk on both days for quite a considerable period of time. On New Year’s Eve, it was stunning. As the sun set, our Labyrinth was illumined by the lights of many candles and by the smiles of many Labyrinth walkers. It was a joy to watch people mark time and mark the ending of one year and the beginning of another. It was mysterious in the best sense of the word – and I was looking forward to coming back the next day, watching once more the walk in the Labyrinth.
But something shifted overnight. I cannot put my finger on it, but it seemed as if something heavy and overbearing was weighing down on those walking the Labyrinth on New Year’s Day.
I came early. As I entered the Upper Hall, I realized that not only the warm light of the candles had been replaced with the greyness of a Vancouver winter day. But there was also a noticeable absence of light from those walking the Labyrinth: no smiles, no thanksgivings, no playfulness, no praise. People were walking with their heads down. The Labyrinth, which I usually experience as a wonderful tool to bring me closer God, a means of strengthening my communion with the Divine mystery, with the community around me, and with myself, all of a sudden, the Labyrinth had become a prison: people were scuffling down the path as if forced to do so. The lines that help me to stay focused had turned into walls that allowed no diversion, no creativity, no freedom. People were bowed down as if a heavy load were resting on their shoulders and there seemed to be no connection to the person in front or behind. It was all very grey, very gloomy. It was all very disconnected: disconnected from the life that in all its awe, wonder, and beauty is so freely given to us by our life-giving God. Isolation had set in.
Except … for one little sign of hope, one incarnation of the divine spark: A little child was running across the lines, fluttering in the Labyrinth like a butterfly 
would from blossom to blossom. And this was not just an ordinary child. This little boy must have had some severe health issues in the past, because he was wearing a tracheostomy tube, the reminder of a past tracheotomy.
Yet, despite the presence of something potentially isolating in his own life, the boy ran, and smiled, and celebrated his life. He connected us all and he invited us to join him in this celebration of life, join him in his dance that defied isolation, join him as he heeded the call of the Creator who breaks through our loneliness and pain, who breaks through our isolation.
Today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark is all about breaking through isolation, all about God breaking through our isolations.
First, we encounter Peter Simon’s mother-in-law and I bet many of you cringed. This seems to be one of those texts that supplies the fodder for misogyny, not just in the church: “a woman’s place is to serve in the kitchen.” It is right there in the lines we just heard read. And, yes, that is what it says.
But, let’s be careful! Let’s take a step back and read the text, not with out cultural perceptions, but, within the framework of first century Palestine. And for first century Palestine, something else is going on here.
Simon Peter asks Jesus to come to his house. There, his mother-in-law lies, wracked with fever. And because of her fever, she has to be removed from the community. She can no longer function in her role as the senior woman of the household. She can no longer be the host, which is a position of privilege. Instead, the sickness moves her to the edge, places her at the fringe, forces her into isolation. Jesus, however, breaks through this isolation, as he heals her and restores her to her social position, to her rightful place within the house.
Yes, we have every right to object to the role-models in Simon’s house, and object we should. For the most part, we now know better: A woman’s place is not just in the kitchen: it can be everywhere. And men are called to take care of the household as much as women. The Creator has made us differently, but we all are created equally in the image of God. Some gender stereotypes, thank God, have been thrown out of the window.
But, in the complex society of Roman-occupied Israel, Simon Peter’s mother-in-law does not have the choices we have today. What she has is a role, which in the end is a role of honour, respect, and power. Nobody gets near the kitchen without clearance from the person who has the privilege of preparing the food. By healing her, Jesus accomplished much more than a simple cure (and by doing so he does not feed into sexism). Jesus restores Simon Peter’s mother-in-law back to her rightful place as he pulls her out of isolation.
In the same way, Jesus, in the ensuing verses, continued to restore people to their rightful places and cut through isolation all day long: afternoon, evening, and morning.
The demons we hear about, both the literal and the figurative ones, are powers that force us into isolation, isolation from our true self, isolation from the community around us, and, most importantly isolation from the love of our triune God. And Jesus overcomes these dominions of darkness, these instigators of isolation and pulls each and every one of us back into the centre, back to our rightful place, back into the loving and life-giving heart of God.
Unfortunately, far too often our modern minds get preoccupied with archaic-seeming words such as “demon” and we quickly relegate our sacred texts to the realm of fairy tales. Yet, this will make us miss the revelation of liberation in Christ from all kinds of forces that want to hurt us in body, mind, and soul, and that force us into isolation. On the other hand, if we look at the biblical idea of demons solely to create a dualistic world-view, with good and evil duelling it out, we will relinquish our responsibility to join Jesus in his movement, which breaks through isolation. In the end, a dualistic worldview will lead us to manoeuvre ourselves into isolation anew.
Yet, being the church in the world means following Jesus as he breaks through all kinds of isolations. It means partaking of and participating in Jesus’ restoration of humanity to wholeness, to its God-intended beauty. Jesus eliminates the barriers that separate us from God, from one another, and from our true selves. And once we are restored to our rightful place, once we are pulled out of isolation, we become co-liberators, collaborators in overcoming isolation. The deadening isolation that surrounds us is overcome in Jesus. And we must join him as he restores ourselves and our neighbours to our rightful place in God’s created order.
This is a deeply countercultural movement in a society that celebrates individualism and that looks at spirituality as a self-fulfillment tool. And it remains the challenge that lies before us in our ministry together. But we have no alternative. Christianity is not a private religion: God’s self-revelation compels us to work together and with one another for God’s reign of justice, peace, and love. We cannot and must not give into the deceptions and temptations of demons that want to isolate us, want to push us to the margins, want to push us over the edge. This is the challenge of our days. But it is also an opportunity in a world that is yearning for healing and searching for meaning.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on February 8, 2009.]
