Elizabeth's Blessing: A Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Advent

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 22 December, 2024, the Fourth Sunday of Advent.  

Texts for Advent 4C: Micah 5:2-5A; Canticle 18 (Luke 1:47-55) OR Psalm 80:1-7; Hebrews 10:5-10; Luke 1:39-45 (46-55)

And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.  (Lk 1:45)

The first chapter of Luke’s gospel is one packed full of wondrous events - comings and goings, visits and announcements.  Some of these visits and announcements are awe inspiring and momentous - the angel Gabriel coming to Zechariah and Mary with news of unbelievable pregnancies and children that will change the world.    In contrast, the third visit, that of Mary to her kinswoman Elizabeth in today’s gospel, may seem homey and ordinary, a young woman dropping in on an aunt or early cousin, but in their own ways, what these two women say to one another is just as powerful as the angel Gabriel’s words.   

Today I want to focus on Mary and Elizabeth as people of faith who trust that God will deliver on his promises.   Mary and Elizabeth can inspire us to hear with fresh ears the good news we hear every Christmas, that God comes into our human world with love and justice to save the world that God loves.

First let’s consider the reasons why Mary would want to seek out her relative Elizabeth.   The trip between Mary’s house in Nazareth of Galilee and Elizabeth’s house in the hills near Jerusalem (today known as Ein Karem) was about one hundred kilometres, so not an inconsiderable journey for a young woman, whether  on foot or maybe by donkey.    We can guess at the reasons.    Mary has recently learned from the angel Gabriel that she has miraculously conceived a child who “will be holy, who will be called the Son of God” (Lk 1.35).  Even though she receives this news calmly (“let it be with me according to your word” Lk 1.38), we can imagine that her life has now been thrown into disarray.

We can imagine that one reason she would want to get away is because of what others would perceive as a scandalous pregnancy.    Matthew’s gospel has the account of Gabriel visiting Mary’s betrothed Joseph to allay his fears about the pregnancy (Mt 1:18-25), and presumably this has already happened.    It’s also six months since her relative Elizabeth has miraculously become pregnant, and that news would have travelled, so we can imagine Mary wanting to take refuge with an older relation who would understand her situation.  And what Elizabeth will understand is that God is up to something wonderful, because when she conceived at her old age, Elizabeth said that “This is what the Lord has done for me” (Lk 1.25).   And so Mary goes to be with the one person who will understand what God is doing.

The scene where Mary arrives at Elizabeth’s house is one of the loveliest in all of scripture.    Sometimes in the gospels we get these rare and lovely domestic vignettes of private homes where real people come together in love and friendship, surrounded by God’s grace.   The home of Lazarus and his sisters, a refuge for Jesus and his friends, is one such place.   Elizabeth’s home in the hills above Jerusalem is another.  We can imagine a cozy, domestic scene and a joyous welcome as Mary arrives, but it’s also a scene full of God’s activity, for the child leaping in Elizabeth’s womb will be John the Baptist, who here in utero is already beginning his vocation of announcing the coming of Christ.  And there is Elizabeth, not just an incongruously pregnant old lady but also the wife of a priest, Zechariah, and herself a person of deep faith and belief that God would keep his promises to his people.

I think it’s worth taking a minute to consider the context here and what it is these people want and hope for - the Messiah, the Saviour of Israel who will be sent by God.  Elizabeth and Mary are people who live under occupation.   As faithful Jews, they know the stories about how God freed his people from slavery in Egypt and in Babylon.   The remember their great kings, David and Solomon, and they know it’s been centuries since a Jewish king has sat on David’s throne.  They have faith that God will send another David, some mighty king, to rescue them.  Mary has already leaned into that faith when she said yes to Gabriel.  And now Elizabeth recognizes that faith in her young cousin, for what she says to Mary is significant: “blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfilment of what was spoken to her by the Lord”  (Lk 1:45).

And what does Mary believe?  We see her faith laid out in what has become known as the Magnificat, perhaps the greatest hymn of longing for deliverance in all of scripture.  In her song, she expresses her faith that God will look kindly on those the world deems to be of no account (“he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant”).  She praises the faithfulness of God, who is with us “from generation to generation … according to the promise he made to our ancestors”.  She points to the mighty power of God that will sweep away the Emperor in Rome who will soon decree that all the world will be taxed (Lk 2.1).   And Mary declares that in a world where only a few can feast, God will bring food and wellbeing to the hungry.

It’s remarkable that the Song of Mary has become so spiritualized, so set apart in gorgeous musical settings in liturgy, that we somehow don’t think about it as applying to the real world, but isn’t the real world where God in Christ Jesus is born?  It is the same world where people still chafe under dictatorships and would-be emperors, where we see a handful of mighty oligarchs and tech billionaires feasting while millions go hungry.  Even though faith in God and God’s promises has dwindled, there is still a desire, especially at Christmas, for some better reality to appear, even briefly.   

Last night, a few of us were handing out hot chocolate at the Christmas market, we told folks that it was free but that donations would go towards our food ministry, because our church feeds a lot of people.  That was always well received and made people want to open their wallets.    At some primal level, even in what some call the post-Christian world, people still want the hungry to be filled with good things.  

And you, dear saints, this Christmas, what do you do want?  What do you hope for?  Would Elizabeth say of you that we are blessed for believing that God would make good on God’s promises?   Should the poor and lowly have dignity and value?  Should the hungry be filled with good things?  Should we trust in God’s power rather than worship those who chase earthly power?  Dare we believe that God is faithful to God’s ancient promises?

If you can say yes to these things, and if you can even try to do these things, than surely you are blessed.   And, dear saints, if you feel that you cannot come to believe these things, then ask for the faith to believe, for as Advent has taught us, the Lord is near.  Indeed, the Lord may be closer than you think, for with every act of hospitality, with every word of encouragement, with every kindness to the poor and lonely, and with every beat of a thankful heart and every prayer of praise, you are faithful to the vision of God's kingdom that Mary described in her great song.  

The Lord is near.  Our Advent journey is nearly over.  Once again we've heard the promises of God, that he would save us.   And now Jesus stirs, waiting to be born in Bethlehem, waiting to be born anew in the hope and life and actions of each faithful believer, for as the poet Rumi once said, each of us has a Christ within.    My prayer for us this Christmas is that we, like Mary, dare to believe in God's promises, for as old Elizabeth told Mary, blessed are those that dare to believe.

Don't Fear the Fire: A Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 15 December, 2024, the Third Sunday of Advent.

Texts for Advent 3C:Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 3 (Isaiah 12:2-6); Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Luke 3:17)

Towards the end of our worship today, you will hear a funny little song about the desirability of heat amidst the cold of winter.   Yes, warmth is desirable, but in today’s gospel, we hear John the Baptist describe a fire that none of us would want to come close to.  Combined with the mention of the axes, and the fate of trees that don’t bear good fruit, the imagery in John the Baptist’s sermon feels downright threatening.    The implied message might be taken to be:  “Please God, or else …”

Fortunately, I don’t think we need to hear the gospel this way.   The gospel of Jesus Christ is always good news, and today is no exception.  Today I want to suggest that the chaff and the unfruitful trees destined for destruction are in fact that the things - poverty, oppression, violence - that hinder God’s coming reign of peace and justice

Advent is always about the coming of God.  Advent looks ahead to Jesus, the Word made flesh, but Advent also keeps one eye pointed at a more distant horizon, which in scripture is called the Day of the Lord, or which we sometimes call the Second Coming.   Whereas our waiting for Jesus the Babe of Bethlehem is always joyful, the promised coming of Jesus the Lord of Heaven can seem ominous.  Last Sunday, we heard the prophet Malachi ask, “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” (Mal 3.2).

The answer, says Malachi, is that no one can stand except for those God loves.   The encounter with God is transformative.   God will clean us and change us for the better - hence Malachi’s images of fire and soap - but it is not a thing to be feared.  Like dirty children grimacing at the approaching washcloth, we will be scrubbed but we will emerge with shining faces.  Just as a parent lovingly washes a child, so God comes to us.  God’s purposes are always loving, and God’s coming is always reason for rejoicing.

Today, the third Sunday of Advent, is associated with joy.   That theme wends its way through our first three readings like a thread of gold.   The prophet Zepahaniah promises that God will forgive his people, gathering the scattered, rescuing us, singing over us like a lover.  “I will deal with your oppressors”, says the prophet, and for Paul, writing from prison to a persecuted church, the promise of freedom from oppression was real.  Rejoice, Paul tells them.   Be at peace, knowing that God guards you and watches over you.   For Paul, God’s nearness is reason for joy, not fear.

So our correct response to Advent is to celebrate.  We give thanks that Jesus loves us enough to come and be with us.  We hold our heads high, we look expectantly for our Saviour, we rejoice, we sing.  As we heard Isaiah say in our canticle this morning, “Surely it is God who saves me;  I will trust in him and not be afraid” (Is 12:3).  But if Advent is joyous, what do are we supposed to make of the axe and fire language in our gospel, because, as we’ve noted, it can be rather alarming.

John tells the crowds, “Bear fruits worthy of repentance” (Lk 3:8).     Now there are several ways we can understand repentance.  It can mean feeling sorry or ashamed of bad things we might have done, but there’s a more helpful way of understanding repentance.  Think of what happens when you take your car in for a wheel alignment.  The mechanic checks that your tires are all pointing in the same direction, so that you can drive safely.    Think of repentance as us aligning ourselves with God’s purposes, so that we live and move with God and towards God.   

Some of us have long since figured out how to live this sort of life.  They’re the prayer warriors, they have a serenity and faithfulness that others find deeply attractive and inspiring.  Others are still figuring it out.   In our gospel reading today, the question asked repeatedly is “What the should we do?”  For the crowds, the tax collectors, and the soldiers, this question comes from the recognition that God is righteousness and justice.  John’s answers are simple:  share your stuff, deal fairly with others, don’t cheat and rob them.   John’s answers anticipate Jesus’ teaching, “Love God and love your neighbour as yourself”.

“What should we do then” is the question that comes out of the realization that we have strayed far from God’s path, and the answer can lead those who have strayed back to that path.   God’s justice and righteousness go hand in hand with forgiveness.   Our world needs justice and forgiveness in equal measure.    These last few weeks we’ve seen people freed from terrible and evil prisons in Syria, death factories into which tens of thousands have vanished.    This is the sort of evil that we yearn for God to uproot.  We want God’s axe to come, we want the secret prisons and the torture chambers torn up and thrown into God’s fire.   

But where God’s justice goes, God’s forgiveness follows. John’s message changed the hearts and lives of the crowds, tax collectors, and soldiers.  Don’t we long for that same message to work in our world again?   Imagine a day when secret policemen and torturers will say, “What then should we do?”   Let us long for a day when warlords, gangsters, and sex traffickers will say, “What then should we do?”  Let us pray for a day when corrupt judges, crooked politicians, and tyrants will say “What then should we do?”

To fear the coming of God is to misunderstand John’s message.  John promises that God will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire.   If we see the chaff as those worthless and evil things that stand against God’s purposes  - things like greed, oppression, cruelty, and violence - then Advent promises a day when those things will be banished so that God’s reign of peace and justice can flourish.   Advent is a time of rejoicing for those who are aligned with God’s purposes in the world.   Advent is a time of hope and encouragement for those who feel God’s call to change their lives.   And Advent is a time of promise for all of us, even when it seems that we wait in darkness, a time of promise that the dawn from on high shall break upon us.

Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Knowledge of Salvation: A Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent

 Preached at Prince of Peace, Wasaga Beach, and Church of the Good Shepherd, Stayner, Sunday, December 8, 2024.  Texts for this Sunday (Yr C): Mal 3.1-4; C 19 (Lk 1:68-79); Phil 1:3-11; Lk 3:1-6.

 

⁷⁶And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, ⁷⁷to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. (Like 1:78-79)

“To give knowledge of salvation”.   These words are given by the Holy Spirit to the priest Zechariah after the birth of his son John, who we know as John the Baptist.   Now the birth of John to two aged and infertile parents was miraculous enough, but, says Zechariah, an even greater miracle is coming and John will be its messenger.    John will bring “knowledge of salvation” to his people by the forgiveness of their sins”.

Advent is, as I said last Sunday, many things besides a Christmas countdown.   Chiefly, I think, it is when we the church celebrate the message of the John, spoken in the wilderness, that we “shall see the salvation of God” (Lk 3.6).   Advent is about salvation, and Advent tells is that salvation is something real and certain and factual, something that we can have knowledge about and something that we can see with our own eyes.

Salvation is what we celebrate.   It’s what we’re all about as church and as disciples of the one we call our Saviour, Jesus Christ.  So what does “knowledge of salvation” mean to you?   What does salvation look like to you.   Do we understand salvation?  Can we be certain of our salvation ?   Can we explain salvation to others?

This last week I had the amazing experience of being in a room full of people who know what their salvation looks like and who can talk about salvation with confidence.

I met these people at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, the first one I’ve ever attended.   Someone who is dear to me had asked me to come as a guest and see them receive their One Year Sober medallion.   I was not prepared for what a powerful experience this would prove to be. There was so much spirituality, honesty, courage and love in the room that I walked away thinking, “if church was like this, we’d have standing room only on Sundays”.

Here's three things that I admired about these people.  

First, I admired their total honesty.  Every one who speaks has to begin by admitting their addiction: “Hello, I’m Joe, and I’m an alcoholic”.   Each time someone introduced themselves that way, it didn’t seem rote to me.   Each speaker seemed to recognize that they had been in the thrall of something dark and powerful that had blighted their lives.   Often they spoke with a fearlessness that took my breath away. 

The guest speaker, a former policeman, told of how he had hit bottom in his career, about to be fired as a hopeless drunk, and one night he found himself on a meaningless duty in his cruiser with his gun in his mouth while trying to pray the AA serenity prayer.  As he said in his simple, matter of fact way, he felt that prayer was answered, and day by day since then he turned his life around.  That man knew about salvation.

Secondly, I admired their belief in a higher power.  You don’t have to be a Christian to be an AA member.  In fact, the person who invited me calls themselves an atheist.   However, if you know addiction is a power that can control you, as every AA member is painfully aware, then it stands to reason that you believe in a higher power (addiction), and so you believe only an even higher power can save you. 

In place of our psalm this morning, we heard the Canticle from Luke’s gospel, when old Zechariah blesses his son John the Baptizer and Herald of God.  Zechariah says “In the tender compassion of our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shone on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace” (Lk 1.78-79).  That cop with the gun in his mouth eventually passed out, and woke in the morning with his gun on his lap.  In his despair he had reached out to the God of compassion and in the breaking dawn he found a new life waiting for him.  That man knew who had saved him.

Finally, I admired the love in that room.    Everyone in that room showed obvious and sincere love and support for one another.   I don’t think you could stand up and speak with such vulnerability and honesty without that love and support.  People spoke with pride of how far they had seen one another come, and what a difference they had seen AA make in one another.   I saw this especially in the sponsors, for every AA new AA member is paired with an experienced member, usually an older person, who promises to be there day and night to offer support, help, and advice. 

I think that of that night when I hear St. Paul in our epistle today pray that God make the Philippian church “overflow more and more with [love] and knowledge and full insight” (Phil 1:9).   I think had Paul been there, he would have thanked God for what he saw in that AA meeting.  In fact, another invited guest there with me, a person who knows nothing about church or faith, said afterwards, “I don’t drink but I want to join this group, just because they’re such nice people!”  These people took joy in their salvation.

In summary, these people knew they needed saving, they knew who it was who had saved them, and they took joy in one another’s salvation.   I came away grateful to God for this experience, but as I said I also left wondering how attractive church would be if church people acted this way.

There are reasons why we don’t act this way, of course.    Some are just cultural.  Anglicans are usually restrained people, we let the liturgy carry our emotions and feelings for us, and we don’t use the language of “being saved” or “being born again”.   Fair enough.   Christianity is a big family, and different denominations have different spiritual gifts and languages.

I wonder, though, if we just haven’t thought enough about what salvation really means.    Do we think of salvation as a customs inspection, where our passport of faith and good deeds on earth are checked before we can enter heaven?  If so, then I suggest that this afterlife-based understanding of salvation is impoverished, and ignores Jesus’ many calls to think about the kingdom of heaven as happening in the here and now.

One of my favourite ways of thinking about salvation comes from Jesus’ words in John’s gospel: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (Jn 10.10).    There are so many dark things and forces in our world that steal and destroy the best things in life.  Addiction is one, as our AA friends know all too well.  But we can find ourselves also hurt and isolated, distrustful, without meaning or purpose or hope, overwhelmed by guilt and self-hatred and doubting that God, if God exists, could ever love us and forgive us.

My friends, this Advent, I encourage you to ask yourselves, what does salvation mean for me?    What is it that I can’t control or handle by myself that I need God’s help with?   Have you asked God for help?  Have you prayed, simply and urgently, for salvation?  I believe that salvation is there for the asking, and there are lots of people in our church who could help you pray for it.

If you know what salvation looks like, if you’ve experienced God’s help and power, then I encourage you to ask yourself,  do I show joy in my salvation?  Do I rejoice that others are here with me, here in the family of God?  Have I done what I could to come alongside someone who is seeking salvation, to be a friend, mentor, and companion?

Let me finish with the same thought I finished with last week.   A church that could talk about salvation with the same confidence and knowledge that an AA meeting talks about salvation would be an awesome and attractive place, because joy and confidence in salvation is the best form of evangelism.

Keeping Our Heads Up: A Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

Keeping Our Heads Up:  A Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 1 December, 2024.  Readings for Advent 1C: Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:1-9; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21:25-36

Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” (Lk 21.28)

In my first parish, there was an old gentleman named Tom who would often say goodbye with these words: “Keep your stick on the ice and your head up going into the corners”.  It’s good advice for hockey players:  be ready for the puck but also be aware when you’re vulnerable to being checked.  It’s also good advice for Advent.   Hockey and Advent are both about being ready and being alert.  Today I would like to think about how Advent invites us to be spiritually ready for the Savour whose coming we long for and should await with confidence rather than fear.

Readiness, the Advent idea of preparation and getting ready,  I think we can all understand.  There is a satisfaction in hanging lights, wreaths and greenery, even as we sometimes debate the appropriate date to decorate! There’s a joy in seeing the church decorated by faithful hands, and knowing that more - the tree and the creche - is still to come.   As the beloved Advent hymn says, “make your house fair as you are able, trim the hearth and set the table”.    Just as we prepare for friends and family, Advent calls us to prepare our hearts to welcome our beloved, Jesus, for again to quote the hymn, “love the guest is on the way”.

Advent is also a way to understand exactly who it is that we are getting ready for and why that’s important.   Advent is a gentle correction to our cozy and sometimes sentimental ideas about baby Jesus in the manger, who comes predictably in late December.   This season reminds us that that babe is also the king of the universe, the holy one of Israel, the Lord of justice and righteousness that Jeremiah spoke of in our first lesson.   Advent reminds us that just as he came to Bethlehem, so this Lord of righteousness will come again. 

Jesus tells his disciples in today’s gospel that they will see  “the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory”, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to us, because Sunday by Sunday we acknowledge Christ’s return.  Likewise our Advent hymns have words like “Lo, he comes, with clouds descending”, to remind us that we do await the coming again of Jesus in glory.     Jesus tells his friends that they may see signs of this final day,  but he warns them to “be on guard” and “be alert at all times”.  This theme of alertness and vigilance is quite common in scripture.   Paul tells the Thessalonians that “the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night” (1 Th 5.2) and warns them to stay awake spiritually.

What does this mean for us?    How are we supposed to stay awake spiritually?  Should we scan the headlines for signs of the Second Coming, as some Christians do? (No, I don’t think so).  I would say instead that we can be spiritually awake and alert without being fearful or anxious about the end times.   Our faith should not make us nervous wrecks!    Part of being Christian is to wake each day knowing that God is Lord of heaven and earth, that all is in God’s hands, and that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.  Always hang on to those truths!

I believe that spiritual alertness is actually not so much about waiting for the Second Coming as it is about being open to signs of God’s presence in our lives.   Jesus promises us that he will always be very much with us, here, in the present.  We meet Jesus at the altar during communion.    Through the Holy Spirit we can pray with Jesus, even imagine him in conversation with us as Rev Amy preached here recently.    As individuals and as church, we need to be open to what Jesus through the Spirit is calling us to do, watching for signs of God’s activity in the community, listening for calls to new ministries.    

This kind of spiritual alertness requires that we keep our heads up and our ears and hearts open to the Spirit’s promptings.   This receptiveness to God’s actions is what scripture calls wakefulness, and the opposite is that we are spiritually asleep, switched off and oblivious to God’s presence.  Remember that Jesus told his friends to see that their hearts are not “weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life”.    In his online Advent teaching last Tuesday, Bishop Andrew talked about the many ways that people can dull their spiritual senses through self-medication, consumerism, and anxiety.  When we’re sleepy, depressed, or when we lose hope, our heads tend to droop. Jesus wants believers whose heads stay up and whose hearts and ears are open to his voice.

As an aside, I think there is another kind of dullness of sleepiness that we can fall prey to, and that is indifference to the world around us.   We have ample signs that the world is corrupt, unjust, inequitable, and cruel.   We can easily numb ourselves to these things or ignore them.  But, as we heard Jeremiah say in our first lesson, our Lord is justice and righteousness.  Part of being spiritually wakeful is caring about and striving for justice and caring about our neighbour, as God surely does.

The final thing I want to talk about is confidence.  Jesus said, “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near”.    When we hold our heads up, we display confidence and assurance, it’s a sign that we’re not just alert but we are unafraid, even amidst the kind of troubles that Jesus describes.   Jesus promised that we would live in fearful times, and he was right.   We live amidst wars and natural disasters, climate change and political anxiety, but Jesus says, even so, keep your heads up.

We keep our heads up because Advent reminds us that we wait and hope for God in good company.  Noah waited and hoped for the flood waters to recede until the dove returned with the olive branch.    Simeon and Anna waited and hoped for salvation and finally saw the baby Jesus in the Temple.   John the Baptist waited for the Messiah until they met at the Jordan and the dove came down from heaven.   All these people waited and hoped because they knew God was faithful and would rescue them.   So we keep our heads up because we look to God who is faithful for our rescue and our salvation.

Finally, we keep our heads up because we know that in Jesus we can see God face to face.   Jesus telling his followers to “raise your heads” must have been a remarkable thing at the time.  It must have been dangerous for a Jew to look a Roman in the face, or for a slave not to keep their eyes lowered before the master.   Learning how not to be seen is a survival technique for people at the bottom, But Jesus is saying, even when you see God returning in glory, raise your heads.  Don’t be ashamed of yourselves or of your sins.   Paul prays that the Thessalonians “may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus”, and so can we, because of the love and forgiveness shown to us by God through the babe born in Bethlehem, the Lord of Heaven and Earth.

And so, dear saints, let us remind ourselves this Advent to be spiritually ready, awake, and confident in God’s faithfulness.  Let’s listen to how God is calling us, let’s be attentive to what God is doing around us, and let’s be unafraid despite what might happen around us, for God is faithful, Jesus has come, Jesus is with us now, and Jesus will come again.   Or, as my old friend Tom liked to say, “Keep your stick on the ice and your head up going into the corners”.

Perfected, Not Perfect: A Homily for the Twenty-fifth Sunday After Pentecost

 Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and St Luke’s, Creemore, Anglican Diocese of Toronto.

Readings for the Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost: (Proper 33B):  1 Samuel 1:4-20; 1 Samuel 2:1-10 as canticle; Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Mark 13:1-8

“For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are sanctified”.  (Heb 10:14)

We have a complicated relationship with the idea of the perfect.   We can admire perfection in highly technical and measured ways, as in sports; Nadia Comaneci and Mary Lou Retton’s “perfect tens” in Olympic gymnastics come to mind.   Perfection might be worth striving for in school exams or in cake baking competitions, but in most of life, which is messy and chaotic, perfectionism can get in the way of just getting things done on time, hence the expression, “perfect is the enemy of good enough”.   Perfectionists can be wonderful people until you have to work with them!

I’m not sure that we’re very comfortable with the idea of “perfect” in our faith lives.   Because we often understand the word “perfect” as being “faultless”, we doubt that we can ever be good enough or holy enough to please God.   Today in our first lesson we hear that Jesus “has perfected for all time those who are sanctified” and we wonder, does that apply to me?  Am I one of the perfected?  one of the sanctified?  Because I don’t think I’m perfect or especially holy.   We may want these qualities, but we doubt that we possess them, and we tend to distrust those who act as if they are perfect or holy.

And if we are confused about perfection and holiness, then I think we might be excused, because scripture can seem to give us mixed messages.   On the one hand, during the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (5.48).   But, on the other hand, we hear in Romans that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom 3.23).  These conflicting messages seems to suggest that, spiritually speaking, we can’t get there from here.

The good news is we don’t have to get there by ourselves.  The big idea in the letter of Hebrews, made repeatedly, is that Jesus is the perfect priest who allows us to come to the Father.   Earlier in Hebrews tells us that “We have  a great high priest who has passed through the heavens” (Heb 4.14).  Later on in the Letter, Jesus is described as  “holy, blameless, undefiled” and “perfect” (Heb 7.26-28).  Jesus is the high priest who brings us out of our sins and who leads us to the Father.

Somewhat startlingly, the author of Hebrews says that all the efforts and all the sacrifices of all the earthly priests could not rescue us from our sin.   Only Jesus can and will do this.   This week we as Anglicans especially needed to hear this message, because our earthly high priest, Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, resigned this week.   

As you may have already learned, the Archbishop took responsibility for failing to investigate a powerful layman, John Smyth, who had abused many minors in the English Church, and who had then allowed to find more victims in churches in Zimbabwe and South Africa.  A document called the Makin Report found that the English Church had known about Smyth’s “prolific, brutal and horrific” crimes since the 1980s, but had covered them up.

The Makin Report was especially damning because, for decades now, the Church of England has said it is committed to prevent abuse and misconduct, but totally failed in this one case.   In his weekly letter to the Diocese, Bishop Andrew wrote that all of us, clergy and lay leaders, have a “duty to serve one another, in particular the most vulnerable. We must always be vigilant and aware of the safety of others in our care.”

I’m grateful to Bishop Andrew for addressing this story, because the danger of this story, and the danger of any story about abuse and sin in the church, is that it might lead us to give up on the church.   If the church is imperfect, if it is contaminated by human sin and frailty, then what good is it?  How will we draw closer to God?

In the Jerusalem Temple, the one that Jesus and the disciples are looking at in today’s gospel, there was a thick curtain that separated the people from the innermost room, the sanctuary or the Holy of Holies, where God was thought to be present.  Only the High Priest could go in, on behalf of the people.   There are other kinds of curtains that keep the people from God.   They are curtains of abuse, curtains of secret and scandal and coverup, and they lead to fear and mistrust, they shake the people’s faith in church and in God.  They are curtains of sin, and Christ will always pull them down to let the light and the truth in.

The author of Hebrews tells us that Jesus opens the curtain of the temple“through his flesh”, a reference to Christ’s sacrifice of himself on the cross.      In Hebrews, Christ becomes both priest and temple, he opens the way to God, so we can enter with “confidence”.    The big idea of Hebrews, indeed of Christianity in general, is that Jesus will allow nothing to separate us from the love of God.  

And the good news is that we don’t have to be perfect to go through the door that Christ opens for us.  We don’t have to be faultless.  We don’t need a 100% score on some spiritual test.  Christ will look after that.  “For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are sanctified”.   

In the original Greek, the word “perfect” doesn’t necessarily mean “flawless”.   It can have the sense of being made whole or being made complete, even of just growing up.    We get into trouble when we confuse perfect with flawlessness, which is why some people avoid church, because they fear they will never measure up.   Instead, think of how God gives us what we are lacking, fills whatever spiritual holes or incompleteness that might trouble us, so that we can be whole, healthy, and happy, the way God always wanted us to be.

How do we get there?  How do we become compete?    The author of Hebrews gives us tons of good advice.   Be confident in God’s love.  Don’t doubt how much God loves you.   Trust that your baptism has made you clean and a loved child of God.   Don’t give up on hope.  Trust in God’s faithfulness.   And meet together.   Be church.   Church at its best is a place where we can encourage one an other to “love and good deeds”.   In other words, be a community that helps one another to show love and hope in its actions.   You’re not in this alone.   We have Christ and one another, even if the approaching days seem dark and uncertain.     Doing all these things, always trusting in the love and work of Jesus is how we become complete.  This is how we become perfect.

In his resignation message to the Anglican Communion, Archbishop Welby confessed his sin and imperfection, but he also lifted up this hope.  He ended his message on a note of hope, saying that “my deepest commitment is to the person of Jesus Christ, my saviour and my God; the bearer of the sins and burdens of the world, and the hope of every person”.   He spoke well, and he spoke for all of us.

The End of History? A Homily for the Twenty Fifth Sunday After Pentecost (Yr B)

A Homily for Remembrance Day and for the Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Pentecost, Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 10 November, 2024.

Year B Texts for this Sunday:  Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17; Psalm 127; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44

One of my abiding memories of Remembrance Day is of standing beside my father at the cenotaph.   Even in old age, he would stand erect, as he was taught as a youth on the parade square.  Remembrance Day was the only day I would see his medals, pinned to his coat - medals from the Second World War, from Korea, and from his Cold War service.

The men and women of his era are almost all gone now, and yet they gave us the world we grew up in and took for granted.  It was not a perfect world, but it was a reasonably stable one.  We had clear ideas about freedom, democracy, human rights, and international law.   We believed that smaller countries should not be invaded and brutalized by larger ones.   Then, in the 1990s, the Berlin Wall fell, the Cold War ended, and we all thought we’d come to a good place,  thanks to the work started by the greatest generation.  Some people even said that we had come to the end of history.

History never goes away that easily, and this week it seems like we’re in a new and ominous era of history.  On this Remembrance Day, it seems as if all the good work and sacrifice we remember is in danger of being lost. The world is getting darker, and is being carved up by despots and strongmen.   For decades we looked to America to protect and defend us, but after this week it’s clear that America is turning inwards, trusting in a strongman for protection and greatness.   Smaller countries like Canada now feel exposed and vulnerable.  If anyone is going to protect our values, it will have to be ourselves, assuming that we can still agree on what our values are.

Where we go from here is a conversation about civics and politics, and indeed, Remembrance Day, at least at during public services at the cenotaph, has always been about civics and politics.    Remembrance Day for the church, well, that’s a little more complicated.    Yes, we want to give remember and to give thanks for those who went before us, and yes, we pray that something good may come of their sacrifices.

At the same time,  I think that we the church must never forget that that God is greater than human history.   On Remembrance Day we are Canadians, but we are also followers of Jesus Christ and citizens of his kingdom.  We never see the kingdom of God clearly in this life, we only catch glimpses of it.   That’s because the kingdom of God  is found somewhere between hope and future, but it is real and it is the answer to all of our fears and darkness.    Our second lesson from Hebrews reminds us that “has appeared once for all at the end of the age to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself” (Heb   ).    In other words, the forces of fear, darkness, and hatred have already been defeated because Jesus carried them to the cross for our sakes.

Because the letter of Hebrews was written to a Jewish audience that understood the rituals of the Temple in Jerusalem, the message for that audience would have been clear: Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross  is the only sacrifice that matters, because it was done once for all.  Without the cross, all the efforts of all the priests, all the rituals, all the animal sacrifice, would be in vain, and sin and suffering would continue.

For us as Christians at Remembrance Day, I think we can draw a similar conclusion.    While we honour the sacrifices and the victories of the past, we also acknowledge the final sacrifice and the victory of Christ.   Without Christ, we would be trapped in an unending history of sacrifice and suffering, but, as Hebrews reminds us, we are “eagerly awaiting” the return of Christ that will truly be the end of history.

Eagerly waiting for Christ’s return does not mean that we are fatalistic, ignore the problems of the world,  and wait for pie in the sky.   Jesus gave his followers work to do in the meantime, the work of loving God and loving our neighbour.  In our gospel reading today, when Jesus notices the widow, he isn’t just praising her piety, he’s asking who has reduced her to such poverty (Mk 12:38-44), because the kingdom of God is also a kingdom of justice.  So yes, we have good work to do. We need to notice those that Jesus notices, and care for those he cares for. A dark world needs those who witness to the light, as Christians have been doing for two thousand years.    Maybe now more than ever, our neighbours need us to be a people of light and hope.

As I noted this week in our parish newsletter, we are a few weeks away from Advent.    Advent is a time of waiting for the return of the king.  It’s a time of trust that God will set the world to rights.   It’s a time when we light candles to show that we keep faith in the darkness.      So if the events of this week have left you troubled and fearful, then let us keep Advent with hope and confidence, trusting that Christ, the Alpha and Omega, will come to free us from darkness, free us from sin, and free us from history.