Posted by stpauls on October 31, 2010 under Sermons | 
Ecclesia semper reformanda est. The Church must always reform.
This was the cry that went out during the tumultuous years of the 16th century, when Europe and the rest of the Christian world changed so dramatically that the ripples were felt around the globe and are still felt today. The Protestant Reformation was a radical change from the practices of the day, so radical that we have a hard time fathoming what kind of impact it must have had on those who lived through it. You think the change from the Book of Common Prayer to the Book of Alternative Service was difficult? Think again! You think reclaiming the ordination of women was difficult? Think again! You think the issue of same-sex blessings is difficult? Think again!
The Protestant Reformation was something that affected people’s lives through more than their churchly sensibilities or their theology. It encompassed every aspect of their lives, so much so that some had to die for what they believed. It is hard for us to imagine what it must have been like. It is hard, because, unlike today, the church wasn’t just an aspect of one’s life, barely on the margins of society. The church was at the centre of society, influencing every aspect of people’s lives. And any change had tremendous and profound impacts on people. The Reformation wasn’t just a theological movement: it was a new way of being that encompassed all of who and what you were.
With sometimes funny, unintended, and counter-productive results…
Take, for example, the role of women.
One theological insight central to the Reformation is the concept of a “priesthood of all believers.” All people have access to God by virtue of their baptism. We are all members of the body of Christ and we don’t need priests and bishops as intermediaries. Their role is part of the mission and ministry of the church and they are essential for the celebration of the sacraments. But they are not necessary for an individual’s salvation.
This radical way of responding to the Gospel was meant to liberate the people from the yoke of clericalism. And it did. The churches influenced by the Reformation did away with everything that they saw could get in the way of our relationship with God. It was about de-cluttering the access to God for all people, rich and poor, young and old, lay and ordained.
However, for women it meant that their official role in the church was relegated to sitting in the pews.
While the pre-Reformation church had offered choices for women, and even avenues to power within the church (don’t ever mess with an abbess, they have power!!!), the Reformation did away with all of it. The bad example of some nuns and monks and the bad (and really unfounded) theology, which thought that monastic and religious vows would provide an easier access to God, had sparked a cleansing fire that wouldn’t leave anything in its wake. Even the things that might have been saveable were burned, at times quite literally.
Out went the religious orders with all their pomp and entitlement! Out went the oppression of common folk by ecclesiastical establishments! Out went a theology that had clouded the Good News of God in Jesus Christ. Yet, out went also the contemplative and prayerful witness of monastic communities. And out went also any meaningful and active role of women in the ministry, mission, and governance of the church. And rectifying this mistake is an ongoing struggle.
Ecclesia semper reformanda est. The Church must always reform.
At the time of the Reformation, the church was in desperate need of Reform. Or so the Reformers argued. Yes, there were horrible abuses and terrible short-comings. The prevalent theology of the day was often used to help secure the church’s fortunes as an institution rather than to build up the reign of Christ. Ignorance, incompetence, and greed among the clergy did not equip the church for mission and ministry. Many common folk often had no idea about the tenets of our faith. There was much amiss…
Well, there was. But modern scholarship has proven that there were considerable regional differences. The church in central Europe and in Scotland, for example, was deeply corrupted. However, the English church actually had pockets of sanity and many monasteries and convents ministered in quite faithful ways to the poor and neglected and those searching for eternal answers. Maybe this is why the degree of radicalism in the changes was so different from country to country…
The Reformation wasn’t just about the practises of the established church, however. It was also about a theological shift.
Some 20 years ago, I was sitting in a class at university on the Reformation. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I was ready to go. I thought I had figured it all out and I was following my heart to pursue ordination in the church. It was all very exciting as I sat there to become a labourer in the church.
But deep inside I was hiding a secret. You see, in my innermost self, I didn’t quite believe I was worthy of God’s love. I felt puny, dirty, and incompetent. God surely had made a mistake in choosing me. I thought I was an imposter. And it wasn’t just about my vocation. It was also about my faith, the bare essentials of my relationship with God. Yes, I believed there’s a God. But God, surely, didn’t believe in me. God was far away, way above me, and out of reach. I believed that I had to work hard to earn God’s love. If only I would pray more, read the Bible more, be more involved in church, then God would probably notice me. If I became an ordained minister of word and sacrament, then surely God would love me and would make everything all right. In my heart, I was looking for what to do to earn God’s love.
As I was sitting in that class room at the University of Erlangen in Germany some 20 years ago, I heard a story of another German who had similar thoughts and quandaries. He also was looking to be embraced by God fully. He also was striving, in the language of the day, to be justified. The answer he came up with was a radical departure from what he had been told, but it was indeed a reaffirmation of what had been proclaimed on the pages of sacred texts ever since they were written.
Yes, I am talking about Martin Luther. And his solution to the problem was simply this: there is nothing we can do to be justified before God. God is the one who justifies. Or to put it in contemporary language: God is the one reaching out to us. God is the one coming our way. God is the one who becomes human in Jesus Christ, so that we don’t have to strive to be like God, but so that we can encounter the Eternal One face to face, eye to eye, hand to hand, and feet to feet. We are never too puny, too bad, too sinful for God to search us out. And this is the secret of the Reformation: It is not about us reaching to the heavens, creating our salvation, working hard to make ourselves acceptable in the eyes of God. It is about God’s free gifts of grace and mercy and love. It is about God’s saving and healing embrace. It is about God, who is acting in our lives, even now.
And this was liberation for Martin Luther. And it was liberation for me. Sure, Reformation theology gets a bit more complicate and complex. But this truth sets us free. And it is a good starting point for living our lives free of shame and guilt, and free of fear.
Ecclesia semper reformanda est. The Church must always reform.
Of course I realise that my issues some 20 years ago, as closely as they might have mirrored Martin Luther’s struggle, are my issues in the end. But they were real issues. And I found answers and consolation in our Christian tradition, as I adapted the prophetic insights for myself and my time.
Yes, time moves on. And people are different. And many people out there are asking all kinds of questions, and probably quite different questions from mine, which are quite personal and maybe a bit arcane. But in today’s world, we cannot get stuck with offering old answers to questions nobody is asking anymore. The Reformation is ongoing. The challenge for us as we follow in the steps of the Reformation is to listen to the questions of all those we encounter, to take their questions seriously, and to search our Christian tradition not for standard, conventional, or even traditional answers.
But it is to search for answers that will open new and life-giving avenues into the mystery of our triune God. It is about listening to the movement of the Spirit, even if the Spirit is moving us into scarily new territory. It is about being open to the idea that God might call us in our time to a new Reformation.
Ecclesia semper reformanda est. The Church must always reform.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on October 31, 2010, Reformation Sunday.]
Posted by stpauls on under Staff Blog, Webmaster Blog |
Good morning. And Happy Reformation Sunday. Welcome to St. Paul’s, whoever you are and wherever you find yourself on the journey.
As you can see, today, things are a little bit different. They are different, because October 31st falls on a Sunday, and, no, we will not be celebrating Halloween today, but we will celebrate Reformation Sunday.
On October 31, 1517, a then-unknown Augustinian monk by the name of Martin Luther nailed 95 theses on the door of a church in Wittenberg in Germany. In his theses, Luther outlined the corrupt state of the institutionalised church, her failure to preach the Gospel, and called for changes, for reform that would restore the church to be God’s mission in the world. As anecdotal as this might be, the event sparked events that we today describe as The Reformation.
And today we celebrate these events, not because we want to join our full communion partners in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada in their celebrations, even though that would be a good enough reason. No, we celebrate today, because the Anglican Communion is a Church of the Reformation, and it finds meaning in the prophetic and Spirit-filled insights of English Reformation, a Reformation that drew on the Lutheran and Reformed movements of the European continent, but a Reformation that also was quite distinct. Whether that makes us a Protestant church or not, can be hotly debated. I, for one, think we are something quite unique among the denominations, not really Protestant, but not really Rome-ish either… We are a Catholic church, and have been since the early beginnings of the churches in the British Isles. And we continued to be a Catholic Church, when we also became a Church of the Reformation under the rules of the Tudor and the Stuart monarchs in the 16th and 17th centuries.
Now, I am sharing this with you, because I believe this complicated understanding of who we are among the denominations of the world, is also reflected in the rather diverse way we worship. And this is despite the fact that as Anglicans we define ourselves not through a ruling teaching office, like the Roman Catholic Church’s magisterium, neither through confessional documents, like Lutherans, Presbyterians, or Evangelical Reformed Churches, but through our prayer book, through our common prayer. You might think that would make our worship rather uniform, but, frankly it doesn’t.
The first Book of Common Prayer (or BCP for short) was published in 1549, and we will be using this liturgical formulary today. However, we will not be following the practices of the first BCP entirely. Why? Because the mid-16th century was a time of marked controversy.
Henry VIII had severed the ties of the Church of England from the Church of Rome in 1529. He had disbanded and dissolved the monasteries, and had brought in some reform of the church. But the king had kept the old liturgies. The Latin mass was still said in most places. The church might have been independent of the Pope, but it surely didn’t show in the way the church worshipped.
On the other hand, Henry had allowed for his son to be educated by Protestant teachers. So, when Edward VI became King of England in 1547, things started to change dramatically – and quickly. Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury already under Henry VII, soon set about to write English liturgies. No more Latin, thank you very much! And in 1549, the first BCP came into use.
However, the 1549 BCP was a work of compromise. It tried to bring together Catholic and Protestant sensibilities and achieved in offending both sides: Catholic traditionalists were peeved because it was a major break from the Roman liturgy. No more elevation of the elements. And the Communion prayer was distinctly different from the Roman rite, even though it was based partially on an ancient pre-Reformation liturgy used in England called the Sarum Rite.
But for those with allegiances to the Bishop of Rome, this was not good enough. It was an ungodly innovation.
Puritan reformers were peeved, too, because the 1549 BCP was theologically conservative, kept vestments such as albs, copes, and stoles; celebrated a “mass” on an altar; and called for weekly celebration of communion. That was all way too much “Popish heresy” for the growing group of powerful reformers. And Edward and Cranmer were very much part of this camp.
So, in 1552, a new BCP was published, reflecting some of the radical changes of the left-wing Reformation of Geneva and Zurich. Away with candles on the altar! Away with altars altogether! Away with vestments! From now on, there would only be communion tables placed in the quire parallel to the choir stalls. The priest was to stand on the North side of the altar, i.e. on the left from the congregation’s perspective, to avoid any form of improper veneration. And only a surplice was allowed as a form of vestment.
The most radical change, however, was in the theology. The so-called Black Rubric was introduced, which called for kneeling at communion, but declared quite emphatically, that there was no real presence of Christ in bread and wine.
Edward VI died young in 1553 and, with the ascent of Mary, the BCP was thrown out. Mary’s goal was to reconcile with Rome, but she, too, didn’t occupy the throne for very long and in 1558, her half-sister Elizabeth became queen. Elizabeth, like her half-brother Edward before her, had embraced the Reformation and in 1559 the third BCP was put into use. This was supposed to be a compromise between the 1549 and the 1552 BCPs, but it had a definite bias towards the more Protestant 1552 BCP. However, the instructions about vestments were relaxed a bit. The priest could wear a stole again. The Black Rubric remained, but the declaration that there was no real presence of Christ in bread and wine of communion was thrown out. And these rubrical instructions remained in place almost unaltered in the 1662 BCP, which was the fourth BCP, and which is still the official BCP of the Church of England.
Today, you will see a mix and match of these BCPs. This is not to confuse you, but this is to show you the breadth of our tradition. We will be using the 1549 BCP in its original form. However, I will wear a surplice and a tippet, something still the norm in some more radical low church Anglican parishes. We have placed the table parallel to the choir stalls and at communion I will stand on the North side. And of course, there will be no elevation of the elements today. And you should not be crossing yourself, and don’t even think about bowing or genuflecting. Otherwise I will report you to royal officers!
There will also be no processing, since that was considered to be too Popish. And despite the fact that the Reformation was about doing away with clericalism, I hope you will find it interesting to experience how much you will hear my voice today. Not much lay participation. And of course, in 1549, there would also have been no woman in any leadership position, including the clerks of the choir. This was a very male-dominated movement and that’s why there are only pictures of “dudes” on the cover of your bulletin.
Because of space restraints, communion will be administered at a station in front of the chancel steps, not in the prescribed form, which called for kneeling. And communion ministers will be John [Charnell] and me, because it is quite clear that only ordained ministers can administer the consecrated bread and wine, right?! What was that about clericalism…?
One last word about music: The Reformation did encourage congregational singing and this is yet another gift that needs to be celebrated. Unfortunately, many of the hymns sung at the time of the Reformation are alien to us. Still, we will use John Merbeck’s setting of the liturgy, which would have been used by many English churches at the time of the Reformation. And I did throw in a Martin Luther hymn for good measure. But, remember, the Reformation did call for the liturgy to be done in the vernacular. And wouldn’t that make contemporary hymns our vernacular songs…?
I hope you will enjoy this experience. But it is not really about simple enjoyment, or an exercise in historical dress-up. I hope you will learn more about the beautiful and profound depth of our tradition, how it has changed, and how much change is part of being a Catholic and Reformed Church. Most importantly, I hope this liturgy will provide for you new avenues into the mystery of our triune God.
by Markus Dünzkofer, October 31, 2010.
Posted by stpauls on October 24, 2010 under Sermons |
“So, what don’t you like about Canada?”
It was a question that hit my over the head. It totally came out of left field.
I had been talking to a friend of mine about my move to Vancouver and I was pretty certain that I had tried to stay away from singing Canada’s praises too much. But I guess I hadn’t done that good a job and I sounded like somebody hopelessly in love with Canada – which I am…
“So, what don’t you like about Canada?”
I hadn’t though about it before. It took some time for me to think about it.
Truth be told, there is no perfect country. There are always flaws in any country, even in places we love. Still, I was wracking my brains. Finally I came up with this answer: “Well, I do believe this country has a lot going for it and it’s stunning and the people are beautiful. But Canadians don’t celebrate what they have. Rather, Canadians often compare their country to the UK, or France, or to the big brother South of the border. And often they think they don’t measure up. Yes, at times, I do wonder if Canadians have an inferiority-complex! I just wish Canadians could appreciate what they have and celebrate the amazing beauty that is so present in this country.”
That’s the answer I gave.
Yes, there is so much to celebrate in Canada! This does not mean, though, we are better than anybody else. In fact, declaring any country to be superior to others is wrong and really not Christian. But Canada isn’t any worse than anybody else either. We might need to learn a few things, but we also have to teach a thing or two to the rest of the world. There is a deep richness present here and we shouldn’t hide our light under a bushel.
This is why it is a good thing to celebrate Canadian saints, as we do today: Jean de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues, and their Companions. These Christian saints not only teach us about being faithful, even unto death, but they also teach us about celebrating and proclaiming what we hold dear, without negating the experience and dignity of other human beings.
Originally from France, Jean de Brébeuf and his friends sailed the ocean to follow European settlers already here. These new white immigrants had brought with them not just housewares, tools, and clothing, but also cultural and religious baggage – not to speak of the many illnesses, formerly unknown to these shores and hence deadly to native people.
The relationship between the new immigrants and natives was difficult. Often, white immigrants did not meet the members of the First Nations on equal footing. The white newcomers viewed aboriginals as subhuman at worst and as tameable, wild savages at best. Religious and cultural superiority reigned supreme. In the colonial struggles of European nations, native peoples often were used as convenient pawns. And religion, i.e. the Christian churches, played along in this horrible game: The church provided theological justification for exploitation, oppression, and even genocide. The legacy of the horrors inflected upon our First Nations’ sisters and brothers can still be experienced all around us and I hope and pray that the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada in its work to reveal the history of the residential schools will also heal wounds that where inflicted long before the creation of the residential school system.
The prevalent theory guiding the minds of the first white immigrants was that of terra nullius, a Latin term, best translated as “empty land.” This theory states that the supposedly newly discovered land was “empty,” belonging to no one, in desperate need to be colonised and freed from its wild and savage ways. The people who lived here were part of terra nullius, too. They were empty, unpropertied, savage souls needing to be freed from their wild and savage ways and to be colonised by Christianity. They were empty vessels, and Europeans just had what was needed to fill these vessels! Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Anglican church missionary societies divvied up First Nations among themselves, just as much as European colonial powers divvied up the land. This abusive kind of Evangelism negated any sense of a pre-existing and valuable spiritual system. For the missionaries there was nothing there that was worth saving or worth listening to. Empty lands. Terra nullius.
But this kind of behaviour is a violation of the very truth these missionaries proclaim. In Christian theological terms, this is an abomination. It is an abomination, because it negates the very truth that God works outside our theological paradigms, is present in the lives and even in the spirituality of those who are not part of the Church. It limits God and makes Him a puppet of the church and of those who think they know what is right.
But God’s grace and love cannot be limited, even by Christians, even by white Europeans! God’s grace and love is bigger than the Christian church. To say anything else is an anathema, is contrary to God’s self-revelation in Holy Scripture. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes,”[1] proclaims the Gospel according to John.
The Book of Genesis reveals that “God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.“[2] Each and every one of us is created in the image of God: male and female; believer and unbeliever; red, black, white, brown, and yellow; straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender; big and small; tall and short; with whatever abilities or disabilities. We are all created in the image of God.
And if you continue reading on beyond the first chapter of the Bible, you will see how God’s will is disclosed also by people from outside the fold, people like Melchizedek or Ruth, who in our terminology would be called “pagan” and “First Nation.” They were natives of a land entered by the wandering, immigrating people of God, and even though they were not part of the chosen people they became more than a blessing on the journey.
God cannot be assigned to one people, one race, or one nation. And the Spirit does not move only within one church either. The idea of terra nullius is both incredibly racist and also extremely heretical.
This does by no means imply we should stop Evangelism all together. Far from it!
Jean de Brébeuf and his friends didn’t give up being Christian in their new found home. They proclaimed the good news of God in Jesus Christ and they celebrated it with gusto. Yet, equally, they were wiling to encounter God already present in the people they met. No terra nullius for them! They had open ears and open hearts to listen to what the Spirit was saying to them, not just in Scripture and in the sacraments, but also in the ancient traditions of the First Nations’ people. They rejoiced in what they already had experienced on their journey into the mystery of our triune God and they did not hold back to proclaim Christ’s love and grace, and Christ’s peace and justice for all people – even in the face of pain and death. Equally, they were willing to rejoice in the gifts they received from those they encountered on the way. And they were willing to adapt to their surroundings, to contextualise the story of God’s incarnation, God’s coming into the flesh in Jesus Christ.
This is how Jean de Brébeuf’s “’Twas in the moon of wintertime” came about, which we will sing in just a minute or two. As we sing this beautiful hymn, I invite you to listen to how Jean de Brébeuf was able to both celebrate the timeless truth of the Christian faith and to incorporate the ancient insights and metaphors of the Huron people. And I wonder what the hymn can teach us about incorporating and adapting the Christian truth to our circumstances today…
Which does bring up the beginning of this sermon. I believe just as much as Canadians sometimes find it difficult to celebrate who and what they are, equally so Canadian Anglicans find it difficult to proclaim with gusto and in thanksgiving what we have received: the good news of God in Jesus Christ. Yes, just like our secular counterparts, we might even have a bit of an inferiority complex or we might be embarrassed by our past, which is complex and filled with oppression, injustice, and even bloodshed. But equally, just as much as there is something intrinsic in Canadian culture that strives to get it right, so we Anglicans try to discover more and more the truth of God’s redeeming purpose and God’s love for all people.
And there is much we can teach a world that is searching for meaning and yearning for healing. There is much to proclaim that is death-destroying and life-giving in abundant and eternal ways. There is much to celebrate in the life of the church, as she gives birth over and over again to labourers for justice and peace, to mystics and saints, and to all those who cannot stop singing God’s love-song for us all. And there is much to celebrate in the lives of Jean de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues and their Companions as they teach us to stop hiding our light under a bushel and to place it instead somewhere for all to see.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on October 24, 2010.]
[1] John 3:8
[2] Genesis 1:27
Posted by stpauls on under Staff Blog, Webmaster Blog |
Today we honour the eight Canadian martyrs who suffered for Christ between 1642 and 1649; and we name two of them especially — Jean de Brébeuf and Isaac Jogues.
Jogues came to Canada in 1636 and was posted to the Huron mission on Georgian Bay. Six years later he was captured by the Iroquois and endured horrific trials for a full twelve months before making his escape to France. Undeterred by his experiences, he returned to New France and volunteered to open a Jesuit mission among his former captors. He was accompanied by a Jesuit lay-brother named Jean de La Lande. As soon as they arrived among the Mohawks, the two Jesuits were taken prisoner. On October eighteenth, 1646, Jogues was hatcheted to death; La Lande suffered the same fate the next day.
Jean de Brébeuf was one of the first Jesuit priests to arrive in New France and in 1633 he settled among the Hurons on Georgian Bay. He felt complete solidarity with the crucified Jesus and had mystical premonitions that he would share the sufferings of Christ in his own flesh. His visions came true in 1649, when Iroquois war parties invaded Huronia for the second year in a row. On March sixteenth, they assaulted the mission of Saint-Louis, where Brébeuf and another Jesuit priest named Gabriel Lalemant were staying. The two Jesuits refused to abandon their flock and were captured. Later that afternoon, and on through the night, Brébeuf was subjected to atrocities which defy description. He endured until dawn the next day, when an Iroquois warrior ended his sufferings. Lalemant was put through a similar ordeal later that day and was finally killed towards sunset.
By their faithfulness Brébeuf, Jogues, and their six companions won a victory that is as vast as God’s mercy. For their victory was in the cross of Christ, whose love for the Huron and Iroquois peoples was the reason they gave up their lives.
Posted by stpauls on October 17, 2010 under Sermons |
She had come to St. Paul’s because she had heard it was a place of refuge, a safe place, a place that would welcome her. She had had no particular religious background. Yes, she believed in something “out there,” beyond the reality that we can see, touch, smell, taste, and hear. And she needed to connect to this “otherness” right now. She needed to feel embraced by a power bigger than herself. She needed to know that “all will be well, all matter of things will be well,”[1] even though her son had been found dead on the shores of the Salish Sea. Some early morning runner had discovered his lifeless body washed up somewhere between Second Beach and Siwash Rock. There was no sign of foul play. The rest of the details the nice, young policewoman had given her were lost in a fog of pain. All she could think of was, “why?”
It had been a rough few months. A big, deep, dark hole had taken over her, inside, and she had come to her wit’s end. Deep sadness had covered her heart. This is how she entered St. Paul’s on that bright, sunny morning, which was oh-so-different from the reality of her soul. She did not know much about this place, except that it was a sacred place of some sort.
So, one that morning, she walked in, right into the main parish office.
That’s how we met. Initially, all she wanted was to sit somewhere and, well, “pray.” That’s the word she used, but she wasn’t sure what that meant and how one goes about doing it.
I grabbed my keys and we walked into this very space here, and it blew her away. She was quite in awe about the beauty and the sense of wonder. Something, someone, tugged at her heart in here and her heart opened a little bit.
But she wouldn’t sit down. Rather, she continued to walk about, looking up and looking down, and taking it all in. She was admiring it. She even recognized that this was a special space, a sacred space. But it was not connecting with her then and there – that needed to wait.
So, I decided to take her to our other sacred space, to the other place in this building used for prayer and for unburdening. I took her into the Labyrinth.
I didn’t tell her much about what she should expect, only that it was an ancient form of walking meditation. I opened the outer door, pushed hard on the inner door, and let her in.
Carefully she stepped into the hall – and then she just stood there.
And this is when healing came.
As the atmosphere took hold of her, as she watched people walking the Labyrinth, what had tugged at her heart before inside the church, now broke down her defences. As soon as she began walking the Labyrinth herself, tears started streaming down her cheeks. The Spirit had descended upon her and had embraced her with healing in her wings. She had taken a first small step on the long road to find wholeness again.
Over the past few years, I have developed a deep fondness for the author of two of our biblical books: Luke, who wrote both a Gospel and who wrote the Acts of the Apostles. And what an author and theologian he was!
Luke’s particular emphasis lies on the revelation that God’s incarnation, God’s coming into the flesh in Jesus Christ, does not occur among the healthy and wealthy, but on the margins, among outcasts, for those who are hurting in body, mind, and soul. This is the biblical author whose texts surprise those in power, those who have it all figured out, those who think they have all the answers, those who believe that God would knock on their door first. Rather, the Lukean texts reveals that God is present in surprising, unexpected, and uncommon places: God is found not in a palace, but in a stable. God does not preach from on high, but in the midst of his people. God does not enter Jerusalem to forcefully take control, but enters Jerusalem to die on a cross. God does not reach out to those already on the in, but draws in the lost and forsaken. We don’t have to strive upwards in order to reach God. God comes the other way, is born like you and I of a human mother. God is not just above us, but among us, here and now, to affirm the needs of our lives here and now, and to establish his reign here and now. Luke understands that in Jesus, God embraces us with human hands, sets us free from sin and death, liberates the downtrodden, frees the captives, mends what is broken, and establishes peace and justice among every living thing.
And nobody expected this with all its radical consequences. It was all new, surprisingly new, scarily new, and challengingly new. It turned the world up-side-down, making the first last and the last first, and moving the focus on the marginalized, the hurting, and the forgotten. Luke put eternal life on equal footing with our earthly well-being, which includes issues of personal health and issues of justice. Salvation is not just an eternal life insurance and it is definitely not a reward for good behaviour. But salvation is a way of life, encompassing the whole of the human existence, encompassing all that we are, here and now.
This is why Luke places so much emphasis on making whole, on healing in soul and mind and body. Healing is salvation offered in Jesus Christ. Healing is letting the Spirit restore the beauty that God has intended for each and every one of us – not just in an afterlife or for limited aspects of our existence, but for all that we are, here and now. Healing is about lives lived well, here and now as much as in the world to come.
St. Paul’s Anglican Church, our beloved parish, could be described as a Lukean community. We have been a place for healing for many years. The Ministry Assessment Process even named “healing” as one of the four core identities of this parish. Here, people seek healing and here people find it. But healing often comes in surprising forms, and often in ways we least expect it.
When the woman in my story entered our church, she was desperately looking for healing. Yes, she knew her son would not come back to life. But she had a hard time grasping and integrating this reality with her pain and her many, heart-breaking questions. And she found healing here in this very place.
But let’s be careful what this means. The pain had not miraculously disappeared, neither had the many questions she had brought. But on a visceral level, without maybe even being able to name it, she had encountered the One, who called her by name and who had also called her son by name. She had learned on an intuitive level that she was not alone and never had been, and this was true for her son, too. And she had understood deep down that God would be able to carry her anger, her frustration, and her deep sorrow, and God would carry her in all her emptiness, in all her doubt, and in all her disbelief. In the Labyrinth, she had stumbled on more than she had expected. She had stumbled upon God who had gentle taken her by the hand and led her on a journey to deep wholeness.
At this point I must share that the story is not just a single event, a single person. In order to secure anonymity, this is a compilation of many stories connected to the Labyrinth, and connected to the many healing encounters that happen on our Labyrinth, week after week after week. And healing happens not just there; it happens also in other ministries connected to this parish, ministries like the music ministry, or the home communion ministry. Healing happens here in this place, both in expected and in unexpected places.
This is why we will offer the sacrament of anointing once again today. We cannot promise that limps will be healed, or terminal illnesses will disappear, or the dead will be raised to life again. It isn’t about a cure, even though, God willing, a cure might occur. But it is really about God offering you the gift of wholeness, whatever that wholeness might look like. It is about the Spirit penetrating every fibre of your being and restoring you to the amazing beauty God already sees in you. It is about being embraced by Jesus the Christ, our friend, our brother, and the lover of our souls. Through his wounds, we are healed.
And finally, there will also be another form of healing offered today. At the end of the service we will commission the walkers of our annual Advocacy Walk. This fundraiser seeks to collect extra money for our Advocacy Office. But it is more than “just” a financial aid-program. It is a reminder that God’s reign is not some future fantasy, but has already broken into the world, seeking for all of us to ring out justice, to bring about peace, and to preserve creation. Our Advocacy Office is right in the midst of doing just that.
Healing does indeed happen in this place. And this is how God’s reign is manifest among us.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on October 17, 2010.]
[1] Julian of Norwich
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Luke 4:14-21 ~ Gospel Reading on October 17, 2010
Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Ecclesiasticus 38:1-4,6-10,12-14 ~ Bible Reading for October 17, 2010
Honour physicians for their services, for the Lord created them; for their gift of healing comes from the Most High, and they are rewarded by the king. The skill of physicians makes them distinguished, and in the presence of the great they are admired. The Lord created medicines out of the earth, and the sensible will not despise them. And he gave skill to human beings that he might be glorified in his marvellous works. By them the physician heals and takes away pain; the pharmacist makes a mixture from them. God’s works will never be finished; and from him health spreads over all the earth. My child, when you are ill, do not delay, but pray to the Lord, and he will heal you. Give up your faults and direct your hands rightly, and cleanse your heart from all sin. Then give the physician his place, for the Lord created him; do not let him leave you, for you need him. There may come a time when recovery lies in the hands of physicians, for they too pray to the Lord that he grant them success in diagnosis and in healing, for the sake of preserving life.
Posted by stpauls on October 10, 2010 under Sermons |
Facebook is a wonderful way to reconnect with friends long lost.
Facebook is also a curse, because it sucks you in and never lets you go. It is a bit like The Eagle’s “Hotel California.” That’s why some of my friends call it “crack-book.” And it indeed can never replace real communications as it stays on the surface, avoids intimacy, and averts profound connections. And this goes, by the way, also for any Internet-based communication… Yes, Facebook is a curse.
But, as I said initially, it does allow you to find old friends.
Many of my Facebook clergy friends last week uploaded pictures from their pet blessings. There were creatures great and small. I really hope my colleagues don’t suffer from too many allergies; otherwise the stock of companies selling antihistamines must have skyrocketed last week.
It was kinda fun to look through those pictures … until I saw one picture from a priest friend in the Mid West of the United States that stunned me. On his arm, he had an owl. Yes, a real live owl! And yes, it did look a bit like Hogwarts, Harry Potter and all that…
I was immensely jealous. Immensely! I did hit the “like” button, but only with grinding teeth. I mean, an owl, for crying out loud! All we ever get here at St. Paul’s are cats and dogs. Darn it!
If you ever thought clergy are better people, let me assure you: we are as much sinners as the rest of you. And God only knows why she chose us to be her ground personnel. We are far from perfect. So, yes, we post pictures to show off. And, yes, we get jealous. Very much so. And I got jealous of my colleague and friend for having such a cool animal at his pet blessing.
The problem with jealousy, however, is that it blinds us to the reality that is all around us. In jealousy, we only see what is not, rather than what is. In jealousy, we operate out of a sense of scarcity, rather than a sense of abundance. No longer can we recognize the beauty that is all around us. No longer can we recognize what blessings we have received. No longer can we claim for ourselves that God delights in us, that we are wonderfully made, and that each and every one of us is beautiful and unique and awe-inspiring. In that moment of jealousy, I forgot the amazing reality that is ours here at St. Paul’s.
We might not have had an owl last Sunday, but we did have dogs and cats, and great human beings, who had come with these four-legged creatures. And all of it, as chaotic as it might have been, all of it reflected the abundant beauty of creation willed, intended, and brought into existence by our Creator, who has never abandoned us, has never given up on us, and never will.
We might not have had an owl last Sunday, but last Thursday night at “Our House,” a ministry by and to homeless drug addicts linked to our parish, those gathered celebrated the Eucharist in a living-room, with the elements of bread and wine not on an altar, not on a table, but resting on the top of a child’s high chair. It was a wonderful, profound, deep, and mysterious encounter with God, who breaks into the messiness of our lives, who reveals profound beauty in the midst of chaos, and who gives himself as food and drink in bread and wine. That night, in our parish, God affirmed that the Spirit blows where the Spirit wants to and God revealed that God was born in Jesus Christ among outcasts, so that nobody, absolutely nobody is too puny, too sinful, too hurting, too insignificant, too old, too young, or too unbelieving to be invited into the loving embrace of God.
We might not have had an owl last Sunday, but early last month I ran into a client of our Advocacy Office, one of hundreds and hundreds who come to us for help and support. The client and I struck up a conversation. He had been struggling with mental illness. Consequently, he had been on the street and off the street, over and over again. Eventually, he did connect with Ellen, our Advocacy Office Director, who not only secured a safe home for him, but connected him to assistance and help. All this allowed him to be stable enough to move forward without the threat of landing on the streets again. He reminded me that God reveals Christ’s image not only in the faces of the successful and the prominent, but Christ’s image can be found in the faces of all those we encounter, on highways and by-ways, on streets and in alleys.
We might not have had an owl last Sunday, but yesterday morning, about half-a-dozen volunteers spent hours decorating this church, adorning the sanctuary of our triune God, celebrating the fact that God does not just reside in a heaven far away or in big cathedrals and ancient abbeys. But God is here, waiting for us to encounter her, longing for us to be embraced, healed, and restored by her in this amazing, sacred place, so well maintained by our verger and our altar guild.
We might not have had an owl last Sunday, but this coming Thursday at five o’clock in the evening we will celebrate the life of our beloved Olive Charnell, who died last Tuesday. In her 90 years of life, Olive had seen many changes, and she had faced many challenges. It was not an easy life. There were ups and downs, there were hardships and there were moments when life seemed to be unbelievably painful. But Olive, who could be rather feisty, was also somebody who could embrace life and embrace the beauty of it. Olive knew that life is to be lived and to be taken in with gusto. Her strength and her joie de vivre were grounded and founded by a faith in God, who in baptism had taken her by the hand and leads her in a never-ending dance, even now. Olive’s was a faith that sought to ever more deeply explore the mystery of the triune God, who had embraced her and all of humanity in Jesus of Nazareth. It was a faith that recognized God as the source of all being, the beginning and the end. It was a faith in God, who in prayer and in the sacraments makes himself known in ways too deep for our understanding.
Yes, we did not have an owl last Sunday. But we have so many other things happening here at St. Paul’s. There is no need for jealousy. There is no need to live out of scarcity, out of fear, or out of a sense of not being up to snuff. There is no need to seek what is not, because in seeking what is not, we might neglect and even destroy what is. And what is, what we have, is what needs to be celebrated, affirmed and strengthened.
Today and tomorrow, many will gather at tables around the country for the holiday of Thanksgiving. And I have a hunch that many of you and most around the country will work hard to make the best thanksgiving dinner ever. A lot of effort and preparation has gone into celebrating this feast. And it is indeed a wonderful thing.
I also have a hunch that at many dinner tables today and tomorrow there will be some uninvited guests. These uninvited guests are there, because Thanksgiving has become not about reality, but all about myths: Myths about the perfect dinner, the perfect celebration, the perfect event. Myths about the beauty and wonder of creation, the romantic life of a farmer, and the goodness of harvest time. Myths that too often talk about what is not, rather than what is. And in our efforts to create the perfect Thanksgiving these uninvited guests come along, guests that are not just uninvited, but also invisible and unwanted. Because, as we push hard to hold together what cannot be held together and to maintain the myths that are not real, jealousy walks through the door, sitting down at the table, making sure that the guests will envy the host or that the host will envy the guests. For in our myth-creating, we want what we don’t have and forget what is ours in all its beauty.
And maybe it isn’t just jealousy that sits down at our Thanksgiving table. Maybe it is greed, or sloth, or pride, or wrath, or whatever other fear that keeps us from recognizing the goodness of the Creator who is in the midst of us, who has called each and every one of us by name, and who seeks for us to live into the beauty that God intends for each one of us.
For this is what Thanksgiving is all about. It is about God, it is about the reality of what God has created for us, it is about what we have been given by God, and it is about being thankful for it. Thanksgiving allows us to take a break from the busyness of our lives. Thanksgiving allows us to acknowledge in gratefulness our God, who not only has gifted each and every one of us with the beauty of life, but who has emptied himself, and taken the form of a human being in Jesus Christ so that we no longer have to lose ourselves in the pursuit of myths; so that we no longer have to fear the uninvited guests at our dinner table; so that we no longer have to run after what is not; but so that we can have life, and have it abundantly, eternally, beautifully, and awesomely. And for that, let us all say: Thanks be to God!
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on October 10, 2010.]
Posted by stpauls on October 3, 2010 under Sermons |
[This sermon was written and delivered by guest preacher, Stephen Rathjen.]
“Today, we celebrate Francis of Assisi, the thirteenth-century Italian whose greatest honour was to be known as il Poverello, ‘the little poor one of Christ.’”
“He grew up in a very wealthy family and seemed to have not a care in the world until he was twenty years old, when a chance encounter with a leper left him appalled by his own uselessness. Soon afterwards he heard Jesus speaking to him from a painting of the crucifixion over the altar of a local church. He threw away his wardrobe and renounced his father’s wealth in order to care for the poor and the crippled. In 1208, he heard the commission which the risen Lord gave to his apostles, ‘Go, make all nations my disciples,’ and knew that it was also addressed to him. Francis began to train his followers for the task of making Jesus truly known and loved among the ordinary people of Italy. Out of this movement developed the Order of the Lesser Brethren, commonly called the Franciscans.”
As I heard this account, I was reminded of another story I recently read involving leaving wealth behind. This is one that many of you will be familiar with and comes from the pages of Luke’s gospel.
It’s sometimes called “The Rich Ruler.” Now rather than tell you about it, let me quickly refresh your memory by reading it. We pick up the story in Luke 18:18.
The Rich Ruler
A certain ruler asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honour your father and mother.” ’ He replied, ‘I have kept all these since my youth.’ When Jesus heard this, he said to him, ‘There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich. Jesus looked at him and said, ‘How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’
Those who heard it said, ‘Then who can be saved?’ He replied, ‘What is impossible for mortals is possible for God.’
These two narratives, “St. Francis” and “The Rich Ruler,” have a couple of common themes between them, which I want to focus on today. One of them is quite apparent. This is the idea of giving away one’s wealth. The other one, a little less so: encountering the poor.
In a way, the stories follow a similar path. In each we have a young man looking to serve God, and attain eternal life. In each we see them questioning and searching for answers. And finally in each we have God calling them to give away their wealth, and that’s when their paths diverge.
One of them hears the call and responds to the voice of God with passion and zeal, and in the other we see sadness and a clinging to the familiar comforts, unable to fulfil the call of Christ.
If I were to stop talking here and sit down, I’m sure the room would be divided. Some of you would be feeling uncomfortable with the idea that wealthy individuals like yourselves are required to give all your riches to the poor, and the others of you breathing a sigh of relief thinking that that passage definitely does not apply to you.
I don’t want anyone to be unfairly burdened and at the same time I don’t want anyone to get off easily, and so I think we need to take a deeper look into both these themes to come up with an inclusive reading that applies to all of us regardless of our bank account balances.
1. Giving Away Our Wealth
If we retain a literal reading of these two narratives, we will continually find the conversation bound to the concepts of money and material wealth. To be inclusive of everyone regardless of our financial standing, we need to seek a broader definition of wealth. We need to find a universal commodity that does not concentrate itself amongst a single group, something of value that everyone holds in equal measure. There is one. A commodity we all are given from the moment we are born to the moment we die. It is something that in any given week you will have no more of than a person living in a third-world slum. You can’t save it up for later, but you can spend it as it is given to you.
At this point I wanted to be all clever, and misdirect your guesses with well-crafted words, but I’m not that clever so I’ll just tell you. It’s time.
Time is the treasure we all get in equal measure. Unless someone were to die, but for the sake of this sermon, I’m going to remain optimistic…so no dying!
Time can be spent. It can be hoarded for ourselves, given to those we like, to things we enjoy, or even to things that are required of us. At the end of the day, each of us will have spent an equal amount of time.
So in a way, time is a treasure, a form of wealth that we are given to spend each day: Our Heavenly Allowance!
Now let us return to the account of the Rich Ruler. How does this new definition of wealth and riches fit into the story? If we were still talking about money, it would make sense that the rich man should give his money to the poor. One has a lot, and the other has none. However, when we speak of time as the commodity, it doesn’t add up. In our revised version of the story, both the rich ruler and any poor man would have the same amount of time, so why would God ever ask the rich ruler to give his time to the poor?
To get this answer we need to return to Saint Francis, and the other common thread that we found woven into our two narratives: Encountering the Poor.
2. Encountering The Poor
As we read about St. Francis’ encounter with the leper, we see that he was left appalled by his own uselessness. Francis tried to help this individual but he felt like his efforts were futile. I can’t really elaborate on Francis’ experiences, but I can describe what seems to be a similar experience that I went through.
Three years ago, I was living in Kitsilano in a two-bedroom apartment and working as Manager for Scotiabank branch in Coal Harbour. Through a series of events, I found my way back to church after having not attended in close to nine years. In the evenings I would often go for walks and pray. One evening while on such a walk, I came across a homeless man sleeping in a doorway a few blocks from my home. As I passed the man, God spoke to me quite clearly and simply. It was two words, but they rang like a bell in my mind: “Love them!” At the time, I didn’t know the first thing about homeless people, other than the stereotypes: they were lazy and smelly and should get jobs.
Not really knowing where to start, I racked my brain for some way to “love them,” and the only thing that came to mind was the Union Gospel Mission. I used to pass it on the bus and I knew it was a faith-based organization and I knew it was in the Downtown East Side (DTES), a part of town I generally avoided. I called the Mission’s office and said, “put me where you need me,” and of all the places possible, I ended up at the men’s morning drop in.
I’m not that manly, if anything I’m a little un-manly, and so the drop-in was not my idea of fun. Put a bunch of tired, angry, grumpy, smelly, violent, aggressive testosterone-filled guys in a room together and you have the drop-in. It was hell! During my first day there a fight broke out, and a nose was broken, and it was my job to wipe up the blood. But I kept going week after week, and eventually I wasn’t the new guy, and eventually people started to open up, and the stories I heard! They blew my mind, and shattered my heart. I couldn’t believe the trauma, and pain these men had lived through. Just like St. Francis when he encountered the leper, I too was undone. These guys’ pain was more than any money could fix, more than any comforting words could heal. These men needed God, and in that moment I realized I needed him too. I was in over my head, and up the creek without a paddle, and so I reached out for God. And as I did, it was in that place that he spoke to me and I felt the call on my life to give away some of my wealth.
Now fast forward three years, and I live and work in the DTES, making ends meet by managing the office for the Anglican Street Outreach Initiative based out of St. James’s Church, and teaching music classes to poor neighbourhood kids.
To think that that one morning a week at the men’s drop-in snowballed into this major shift in location and vocation!
To think that St Francis’ encounter with a leper, would lead to him founding the Franciscans!
This is why Jesus calls us to give our treasure to the poor. Not because it is the right thing, or the just thing (although it is), but because we ourselves are transformed in the process.
So we are back to our original question. Why would Jesus ask us to give our time to the poor?
It is because the marginalized people of this world make us see how impoverished, weak, and useless we are ourselves, and how greatly we all need the Father’s love to heal our brokenness.
So my exhortation today as we consider the life of St. Francis is heed Jesus’ call to give your treasure, your time to those on the margins of our society. Not just a cheque, or a sandwich, but a conversation, love, attention, and respect. Let God lead you to the marginalized in your life: the elderly, the infirmed, the children, the mentally ill, the physically disabled, the homeless, the addicted, and the lonely. And it is in these places and through these people that you will encounter the Spirit of God in a profound way.
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Matthew 11:25-30 ~ Gospel Reading for October 3, 2010
Jesus said, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
