Citizens of Earth and Heaven: A Homily for the Second Sunday of Lent

 Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on, March 16, 2023, the Second Sunday of Lent. 

Readings for Lent 2 (YrC): Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35

“But our citizenship[a] is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” (Phil 3.21) 

I’m sure you’ve had that moment when you land in another country and you’re in a queue at immigration, that moment when you hand over your Canadian passport and you think “I’m so glad you I have one of these”.   Having a Canadian passport when I travel makes me feel a little like having a magical charm, something that says “I’m one of the good guys, I’m harmless and inoffensive, why would you give me any trouble, I’m Canadian”.  

It’s often said of Canadians that we have a quiet sense of pride in our country, that we’re nice, polite folks, but it’s also said that when push comes to shove, we can be fighters.  Yesterday I saw an article in The Atlantic magazine with the title, “The Crimson Face of Canadian Anger” and we can all understand why that is.   

When you hear “Fifty First State”, doesn’t your blood pressure go up a bit?   It says something about us as a country that when we feel threatened we turn to the language of hockey fights and use phrases like “drop the gloves” and “elbows up”.  I’m as guilty of this as anyone else, because I’ve served in uniform, I’ve worn my country’s flag on my shoulder, and I know damn well that my nationalistic buttons are getting pressed.

In times like these, one of the challenges for us as Canadians and as Christians is to remember that we have another identity and another loyalty as citizens of the kingdom of God.   When we were baptized, the priest drew the sign of the cross on our foreheads, and said “I sign you with the cross, and mark you as Christ’s own for ever” (BAS p 161).   As I like to say at confirmation classes, we actually have two passports, one as Canadians and one as citizens of the kingdom of God, and that second passport was issued to us at the font.

Which one of our two passports has precedence?  Which one is ultimately more important?   For Paul, who was a Roman citizen, the answer was simple.   As he wrote to the Christians in Philippi, “our citizenship is in heaven” and elsewhere in the letter he writes that the Philippians are “children of God”.   He was writing these words as a prisoner in Rome, awaiting a trial for preaching the good news, the gospel, of Christ, for which he would ultimately be executed.  Paul knew that being a Roman citizen would not protect him from punishment for putting Jesus first, for saying that Jesus was lord of heaven and earth and putting Jesus ahead of the emperor in Rome who called himself a God.  Many Christians  would learn the same hard lesson in the centuries of persecution that followed.  

Being a Christian in Paul’s day and in the early church was counter-cultural and sometimes dangerous, but as time went on it became comfortable.   If you don’t mind a quick church history lesson, in the fourth century the Emperor Constantine declared Christianity to be the official religion of the Empire.  As Christianity spread, if a king or ruler converted, then his people were considered Christian.  After the Reformation, the rule of thumb was that the religion of the ruler (Protestant or Catholic) was the religion of his citizens (Cuius regio, eius religio).  Church and state gradually grew apart, but some of us can still remember a time when Canada considered itself a Christian nation.   

Today it’s much more complicated.   Christmas and Easter are holidays, but we also acknowledge Ramadan, Passover, and Diwali as important religious dates.   We now see diversity as a positive good, so we see being Canadian as a common, collective identity, whereas being religious or irreligious is a private, voluntary matter.

In some ways we are a lot closer to Christianity as it was in Paul’s time then we are to Christianity as it was when Canada was founded.   While we’re not persecuted, and we get a nice tax receipt for our offerings to the church, we find ourselves, as I said last Sunday, on the margins of a largely secular society.   As Christians we don’t control the national agenda, but we don’t suffer from our irrelevance.   In fact, many Canadian values - civility, tolerance of difference, equality, universal programs - are compatible with and adjacent to Christian values.

So of course when we hear certain neighbours say that we should be the “Fifty First State”, of course we as Christians and as Canadians should get riled.   Our country is worth defending.   But here’s where we need to remember our second passport as baptized followers of Jesus, because we know that there is a dark side to nationalism.   

It can become an irrational force that makes people say “my country right or wrong”.  It can divide neighbours, as we saw just five years ago when people who disagreed with Covid regulations and vaccinations began to wave large flags and call themselves the true Canadians.   Nationalism can be used by politicians to incite hatred and target minorities who aren’t really one of us.  Nationalism makes civil and reasonable conversations difficult if not impossible.   If you doubt that claim, then imagine that you had a neighbour or a family member who genuinely believed that Canada should be fifty-first state.   How would you feel about that person?  Would you even try to talk with them?

It’s hard these days to separate the blather and bluster from reality, and maybe there is no real threat to the country that we love.   But whatever happens, we always need to remember that our identity as Christians matters in the here and now.  When Paul writes that “our citizenship is in heaven”, we might think that he is talking about some future reality, because he goes on to say that it is from heaven that “we are expecting a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ”.  But Paul also says elsewhere in this letter that we should live for Jesus on earth while we wait to be with Jesus in heaven.   He tells the Philippian Christians that they should “live your [lives] in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ” (Ph 1.27) so that they “shine like stars” amidst the people around them (Ph 2.5).

What does it mean for us in this strange and fearful time to live lives worthy of the gospel of Christ?  I would say that it means to live in hope and in kindness.  It means valuing everything good about our country of Canada while wanting Canada to have more ofthe things that God teaches us to strive for - justice, dignity, and compassion for all.  It means praying for our leaders while giving our ultimate allegiance to Jesus as our Lord.  

We give our loyalty to Jesus because we know that he will never lead us to dark places. Jesus calls us to love rather than to hate, he calls us to welcome strangers instead of fearing them, and he calls us to act like brothers and sisters rather than as enemies.  These are good values for citizens of heaven, and they are good values for citizens of Canada.   May God bless us, and may God bless and protect all that is good in our beloved country.

Lent Madness

 The lack of engagement on my Lent Madness posts here, and my own lack of time, means no more updates on this engaging Lenten pastime.  You can find Lent Madness content here as well as on the All Saints Collingwood Facebook page.

"Fit For Purpose": A Homily for the First Sunday of Lent

Preached at All Saints Anglican Church, Collingwood, 9 March, 2025.

A Funeral Homily for Francis Bonwick

 Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 8 March, 2025.

It doesn’t matter how old a person is, or how long and fulfilling their life has been, it’s always sad to say goodbye.   Today we say goodbye to a lady who was wife, mother, grandmother, respected member of an old Collingwood family, and a faithful and lifelong parishioner of All Saints. 

I only knew Fran in the last few years of her life, but in that time I became very fond of her.  I looked forward to seeing her in her usual pew on Sunday morning, and if there was time before the service, she would often wave me over and tell me something interesting, usually some tidbit about the history of this church that she was very proud of.

Fran also liked to tell me that she was baptized here at All Saints, confirmed here, and married here.   Today, as we give her into the loving and eternal care of God, this church performs its last service for Fran, though we will remember her as one who has enriched the life of this place.

Of course, there is so much more to Fran’s life than merely her connection to this church.   But that connection with All Saints can be seen, if you will, as a metaphor for how we live our lives within the love and care of God.   

Fran came through these doors as a babe in arms in a white christening gown, as a beautiful bride, as a mother, and over the decades, as I’ve said, as a faithful parishioner.  She was always kind and gracious, particularly to a young man, a newcomer to All Saints, who often sat just behind her.    Fran experienced God’s love, and she returned it to those around her.  Today, as she leaves All Saints for the final time, she is wrapped fully and completely in the love of the God who knew her and walked with her through every stage of life.

I hope that it is a comfort to you to know that you, too, will leave here, fully surrounded by the love and care of God, just as Fran was, and now is, in a way that we can’t fully imagine.   

Saturday Homily: Conclusion of the Holy Family Series

 

Last of the Apres Ski 2025 meditations on the Holy Family.

Fix Our Hearts: A Homily for Ash Wednesday

 Preached on Ash Wednesday at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 5 March, 2025.

Readings:  Joel 2:1-2, 12-17, Psalm 103:8-18; 2 Corinthians 5:20B-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

“Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near - a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness!” (Jl 2:1-2).

Several weeks ago, one of Elon Musk’s Space X rockets exploded during a test flight over the Caribbean.   However, Musk’s company did not call it an explosion, or a failure, but rather, it was a “rapid unscheduled disassembly”.  Or, as WB Yeats would have put it more poetically, “things come apart, the centre cannot hold”.  Things coming apart seems an apt description of the strange time that we are currently living through, in a way that makes our readings today especially pointed and relevant.

Ash Wednesday is about things going apart in catastrophic ways that only God can fix them.  The prophet Joel warns of a coming disaster that threatens the very nation.  Jesus warns us that our wealth and security can disappear.  And the ashes, a sign of mortality as well as repentance, warn us that our health and our very bodies will one day fail us.   Things come apart.

There are times when Ash Wednesday can seem like a quaint ritual, the flip side of Pancake Tuesday.  When things are going swimmingly, the familiar scripture readings don’t really touch us.  We laugh at one another’s smudged foreheads, we might even leave the church hoping that someone will see our ashes and ask us about them.   At other times, though, when things don’t look so rosy, Ash Wednesday seems to strike a nerve.   Today Ash Wednesday feels very real.

I don’t need to spend much time detailing the crazy times we live in.   Certainties are being swept away daily.   Dictators are now friends.    Friends are now dictators.   Neighbours and allies are scorned and threatened.   Cruelty and corruption, ignorance and racism now seem to be the official values of the most powerful country in the world.  Recently, Elon Musk said that “empathy was the fundamental weakness of western civilization”.

In these times when we feel vulnerable, threatened, and just dazed, we need to remind ourselves that we stand on solid ground, and that saints and angels stand with us.   Empathy is at the centre of all that we believe as Christians and is at the centre of what we inherited fro Judaism.   Earlier we heard the prophet Joel saying “rend your hearts and not your clothing”, meaning that true repentance is not ritual but a change of life.  Or, as the late film director David Lynch once said, “Fix your hearts or die”.

The Old Testament readings chosen for Ash Wednesday, Joel or an alternate selection from Isaiah, call on cruel and corrupt societies to find their way back to God by embracing justice, kindness, and equity.   Likewise for St Paul in our second lesson, the path to God is “patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech”.  And in our gospel reading, Jesus reminds us that when we give alms and do acts of kindness, we are giving from the true wealth of the human heart.

Today the ashes on our heads can be seen as a as something more than a sign of our mortality.  They can also be seen as a sign of our commitment to God’s kingdom of justice and empathy.   Amid the darkness and gloom, we can wear the ashes as an act of lamentation and sorrow for what we see going on around us.  Like the people in Joel, we can wear the ashes as a call for God to reappear, to come and be the God of justice and peace that we long for, to forgive our many collective sins and to drive away the darkness and gloom.  

Today, on Ash Wednesday, we call on God to fix our hearts.

Background On This Year’s Vestry Social Justice Motion and Supervised Consumption of Drugs in Ontario

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, for the parish vestry meeting, The Last Sunday of Epiphany, 2 March, 2025.

Every year, as part of the vestry meeting process, our Diocesan Social Justice Committee asks parishes to vote on a motion concerning some social cause or issue that is in the news.  Each year the Social Justice Committee gives these motions careful thought and research.   

The 2025 Social Justice Motion gives all churches in our Diocese the chance to call on our provincial government to reverse its opposition to and closer of Supervised Consumption Sites across the province.    When our vestry meets tomorrow, on March 2nd, the motion we will consider reads as follows:

We, the parish of All Saints, Collingwood, in the Diocese of Toronto, urge the Province of Ontario to reverse the planned closure of safe consumption sites in Ontario, and to lift the ban on the creation of new sites, in order to expand life-saving harm reduction services to Ontarians.

A fact sheet on the motion, and a video explaining it,  can be found here.

Before I talk about the motion, let me offer a short explanation of what I think we as church mean when we talk about Social Justice.  Social Justice should not be confused with supporting any one political party.   Social justice is about how we live the values of the Kingdom of God in our daily lives.  It’s about how our social values uphold the value of each life made in the image of God and loved by Jesus.

Our province does not value lives as it should.  Between November 2024 and January 2025, an average of seven people a day died in Ontario from drug overdoses.  Each of those people mattered: they were someone’s child, brother, sister, partner, parent.  So for me, the basic question boils down to this:  we as Christians and as Ontarians are not okay with people dying if their deaths are preventable.  If we don’t want them dying of hunger and exposure on the street or in homeless encampments, then we don’t want them dying of overdoses. 

The premise of the Supervised Consumption Site program has always been to offer spaces that provide a wide spectrum of health and medical attention.  For some users, they function as community clinics, offering a path away from addiction and back to wellness.  They bring drug users and care professionals together and offer hope for healing, and they make neighbourhoods safer.  

Here are some comments that the Social Justice Committee has gathered:

Rebecca is another parent whose child attends school near a supervised consumption site, the Kensington Market Overdose Prevention Site. She says, “As a parent, I value safe consumption sites.  Amidst the opioid crisis that has claimed thousands of lives in Ontario, safe consumption sites are saving lives, and making our communities safer. I am sympathetic to people who are concerned for their safety; however, as research points out, overdose prevention centres do not increase local crime, but instead help reduce drug use in public spaces and reduce the disposal of syringes in public spaces, such as parks and school yards.” 

Zach, who lives in a homeless encampment in Toronto, goes to a nearby SCS for harm reduction supplies. He says, “I don’t use these as much myself, but other people come here [to my tent] and get this stuff. I often go three times a day to refresh the supplies.” He adds that people who are

addicted “gotta do it somewhere. It’s better people know what you’re doing and how you are doing it, so you don’t do it in the bathroom. That’s how people die.”

We might decide that Safe Consumption Sites are a Toronto problem, but we’d be wrong.  Health advocates in Barrie and Orillia have been trying in vain to establish sites in their communities, and we know that drug use happens in small communities, where there are even fewer places to turn for help.   I hope that you will look at the materials that our Diocese has made available on this subject and that you will decide to support this year’s motion.

The clergy team hopes that when all four parishes in our region have voted to support the motion, we can write a joint letter to Brian Saunderson, our newly re-elected MLA for Grey Simcoe, calling on him to consider the concerns that we have raised as Christians and as citizens.  Better yet if we could present the letter in person and have a discussion.  Please support the motion so we can do that.

Blessings,

Fr. Michael

https://odprn.ca/occ-opioid-and-suspect-drug-related-death-data/

Apres Ski Meditations on the Holy Family: Mary at the Cross

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, on Saturday, February 22nd.

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (Jn 19:25-27)

Two weeks ago, if you've been following our series of Apres Ski meditations on the Holy Family, we were standing with Mary and Joseph in the Temple, and we listened as the aged Simeon took the infant Jesus into his arms and thanked God that he could now die having seen his Saviour.   We heard Simeon pray, "Lord, now lettest thy servant depart in peace, according to your word" as the old King James Bible and the Prayer Book beautifully phrase it, but in the words that followed, Simeon would offer no peace to Mary.

The old man then turns to the young mother and says this:  "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed ³⁵so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Lk 2.34-45).

Scripture tells us that Mary was a thoughtful person, and so we might well wonder, as the years went by and Jesus grew, how often Mary would recall these words and ponder these things in her heart.  After his first sermon in Nazareth, and its hostile reception, Mary would have seen first hand that some were hostile to Jesus.  As that hostility grew over the time of his ministry, Mary doubtless remembered Simeon's prophecy about "the falling and rising of many in Israel", and she would have feared for her son.  And now we find her at the foot of the cross, staring up at Jesus' broken body.  Now the last part of Simeon's prophecy has unfolded, and the sword of grief has pierced her heart.  

Michaelangelo famously captured Mary's sorrow in his sculpture the Pietà (the word means "compassion"), which shows a Mary holding Jesus' dead body after it has been removed from the cross.   In the sculpture, Mary is depicted as youthful and beautiful, presumably on the grounds that she has a moral beauty that comes from her closeness to God.

While Michaelangelo created a beautiful image, it seems likely to me that Mary would have been considerably less composed as she watched her son tortured and degraded on the cross.  Did she weep?  Did she plead with God?  Did she despair?  Did she miss Joseph's comforting strength and wish he was still alive and there for her? If she was at all like us, she would certainly have done all these things.   If the Holy Family is an icon of God in Christ embracing our humanity, then the icon contains the full range of human emotion and experience.  Mary's suffering is our suffering, her grief is our grief, her mourning is our mourning.

But in John's account there is a particular moment of compassion.  In the other gospels the compassion is writ large as Jesus forgives his enemies.   Only in John's account is Mary present, and the compassion is focused and intimate.  In his pain, struggling to speak as his body hangs heavy, Jesus sees Mary and his beloved disciple (traditionally thought to be John), and speaks to them.   Jesus gives Mary into the disciple's care, forming them as a new family, a new household.

It's worth remembering that houses and families have always been a part of the gospel stories.  We think about Jesus curing Peter's mother-in-law and how she then cared for Jesus and the disciples, or we think about the household of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus which seems to have been haven for Jesus in his travels.  Likewise there is the household and family of the Roman soldier Cornelius in Acts 10, who come to faith through Peter thanks to the Holy Spirit and     Houses and families in the gospels reflect the work of Jesus in that they are places of love and shelter, where people minister to one another.    

As we think about Mary at the cross, we also see her surrounded by supporters:  Mary the wife of Clops and Mary Magdalene.   They remind us that family can take many forms besides those of marriage and birth.  How often do we speak of our church family and give thanks for the love we find in our Christian community?  Any church, if it is indeed a true church, is a place where we can find family to comfort us and walk alongside us, and this can be a particular blessing to those who did not find comfort and love in their own families.  Any community where Christ is present and central to its life and values is a holy family.

This week a few of us in our reading group finished a book by the 14th century mystic, Julian of Norwich.  Towards the end of her writings, Julian writes that we see three faces of Christ.  The first face is the face of his Passion, the suffering that Mary looked up at.  The suffering face of Christ is the face of Jesus sharing our own hardships and sufferings.  The second face of Jesus, Julian writes, is the face of compassion, the face of the empathy and love that led Jesus to go to the cross for us.  The final face, she writes, is the blessed face of Jesus which we will see in the world to come.

Of the three Marys at the foot of the cross, it was Mary Magdalene who met Jesus in the garden after his resurrection.   We can imagine how Mary the mother would have taken this news - did she doubt at first, or did she remember Simeon's words that there would be falling and rising?  No gospel describes Mary's encounter with her risen son, but it is pleasant and wonderful to imagine her joy, and that reunion is something we can ponder in own hearts.  When our griefs and sorrows overtake us, we can imagine our own moment when we will see Christ face to face, for as Julian of Norwich famously said, "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well".    In such moments, when we need consolation and hope, we might also imagine another statue that Michaelangelo might have carved, that of Mary embracing and being comforted by her risen son.

The Catch of Blessings: A Homily for the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and Good Shepherd, Stayner, on 9 February, 2025, the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany (Yr C).  Texts for this Sunday:  Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13); Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets. (Luke 5.5)

If you’ve ever had a job or a time in your life where you had to do the same thing over and over again, and felt that you were doing it in vain, I’m sure you can see yourself in today’s gospel reading.  If you’ve ever struggled to make yet another quota for your company, or chased some reward that never materialized, or just tried to get through day after day thing until you were bone tired, then I’m sure you can relate to Peter and his friends.

All night long they’ve been out on the water, throwing out the nets, waiting, hauling in the rope nets, heavy with water, only to face disappointment.   Where are the fish?  Maybe move to this spot?  Try again.   The night goes on, they’re tired, and wondering how they will feed their families and pay the crushing Roman taxes.

And then their friend Jesus comes along.  In Luke’s gospel the fishermen knows Jesus already, he’s acquired a reputation as a charismatic rabbi and he’s healed Simon’s mother in law from a fever, so when he asks to borrow a boat to use a pulpit, they say sure, go ahead, and maybe they listen a bit as they look after their nets, but probably they’re just looking forward to a bite of food and sleep.  But Jesus isn’t done with them.  “Hey, Peter, go try again.   There must be fish out there in the deep water”.   

Peter obviously respects Jesus, he calls him “Master”, but Peter knows his job, he’s been fishing all his life, and Jesus, well, he’s a gifted rabbi, but he doesn’t know fish.  “Jesus, buddy, we’ve been at this all night.   Give us a break.”  But Peter looks at his friend, who’s still pointing out at the lake and nodding encouragement, and he sighs.  “Come on, guys, you heard the rabbi.   Let’s try again.”

Here the story takes a sudden turn, because it’s not about the fish.  The fish are just a clue about who Jesus is, because the fish help Peter connect the dots.  Maybe Peter remembers his scripture, how God in Genesis said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures” (Gen 1.20), and how God gave humans “dominion over the fish of the sea” (Gen 1.26).  Peter remembers these verses, sees the fish, looks at Jesus, and realizes that he is somehow the same God of Genesis.  That realization is I think the real climax and point of the story, for Peter, and for us.

So if the point of the story is to tell us that Jesus is God, then the question for us is, what do we do with this knowledge?  Maybe the answer to that is to ask which Peter in the gospel you identify with.

Let’s start with the Peter who connects the dots, but then who falls down aghast on his knees, saying “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” (Lk 1.8).  Peter’s reaction is mirrored in our first lesson this morning from Isaiah, who is given a vision of heaven and says that he isn’t worthy of God: “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts” (Is 6.5).  This is basically the reaction of anyone in scripture who is called by God or who receives a message from God’s angels: a mixture of shame and fear.  It’s like a person stepping back from the edge of   a cliff, aware of the vast distance between God’s holiness and justice and our human imperfection and sinfulness.

It’s even fair to say that this is the reaction of all believers to Jesus.   The theologianl Karl Barth said that Peter’s words, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man”, is the reaction of anyone who believes that Jesus is the Son of God.  Someone who is indifferent to faith could not care less and wouldn’t trouble themselves to feel the least bit ashamed.   But the faithful person sees Jesus as God and we see our judge and we are afraid of the verdict.

But as Barth said, the Judge comes to earth to be judged in our place and to be sentenced on the cross for our sakes.   Jesus, who could call us sinners, calls us friends and siblings.  The verdict we receive is love and grace, and the fish in the story are a sign of God’s love and friendship.  While Jesus has been teaching, he’s been watching his friends clean their nets.  He understands how hard they’ve been working all night long, and how tired and frustrated they are.   The fish are a sign of Jesus’ power as God, but are also a sign of his compassion for the struggles of his fishermen friends.

And yet, and this is the most curious thing about this story, the fish, and the nets, and the boats, are all left behind.  Jesus tells his friends to come with him and catch people, and so the fishermen become disciples.   So it turns out that this story is not how Jesus can make his friends better fishermen by showing them where to fish.  It’s not about Jesus promising to make us more successful and more prosperous.  Instead, like every other gospel story, it is about Jesus calling us to follow him.

I could spend a whole sermon on what Jesus means by catching people, which is often understood to be a call for evangelism, but in our context, I think it just means being church in a  good, positive, and welcoming way.  It means feeding people.  It means introducing them to a Jesus who is loving rather than scary, a Jesus who is on their side, a Jesus who gets their fatigue and fear and loneliness and disillusionment.  It means offering a worldview which does not idolize wealth or power or race, but which has at it’s heart a God who loves us and heals us.

Which brings us to which Peter we see ourselves as in the story.  If the point of being church is to catch people, in the sense that we want to introduce them to the Jesus we’ve found and followed, it’s fair to say that we may see ourselves as the tired Peter who says “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing”.  Some of us have been doing this for a long time.   We’ve been wardens and treasurers, we’ve grown old, and we’re tired.    Now it’s a long slog and we wish there were more hands at the wheel, stronger hands, younger hands.  And here’s another vestry meeting coming up, reminding us how much we did, and how much there will be to again.     To which, Jesus would say, “do you have anything better to do?  Do you have anyone better to follow?  Go on.  Try one more time.”

So we go out again, we let down the nets, and we do the work again.   We do it because Jesus calls us into a way of life that gives life.   We hear powerful voices around us celebrating greed and hatred, worshipping power, stoking division, and we follow the voice that leads us to hope and light and love.  We follow Jesus not because we want to escape the world, but because we want the world to know him, to know true peace and true freedom.   That’s the blessing that we’re called to share.

Here’s a final thought.    When Jesus called the fishermen to be disciples, they left their nets, and their boats, and they left that miraculous catch on the beach.   What happened to it?  We know that crowds were there to hear Jesus that day.  We can imagine that the crowds were there to scoop them up.  No markets.  No Roman taxes,  Just fish, to take home, to give life, to be a sign of who Jesus is, the Son of God.   The fish are a blessing for all to share.  And maybe the work of church is like that.  We do the work so that others may be blessed, blessed by a hot meal on a winter night, blessed by a warm pair of socks left in the outdoor pantry, blessed by a welcoming community and by life giving worship and a vision of a better life offered by a loving God.   That’s why we go out to let down the nets, it’s to share the catch of blessings.

Some Liturgical Notes on Sunday, February 2nd, the Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple

(this short piece appeared in this week's edition of our parish newsletter, All Saints Alive).

The Presentation of Christ by Hans Holbein the Elder, 1500.

This coming Sunday, February 2, happens to be the fixed date for one of the Principal Feasts in the Anglican Communion.  The Feast of the Presentation of Christ occurs forty days after Christmas.  While it has other names, The Feast of the Presentation commemorates the occasion described in chapter two of Luke’s gospel, when Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus to the Temple.

As faithful Jews, in accordance with the law of Moses, Mary and Joseph were required to bring their firstborn son to the Temple to be redeemed (see Leviticus 12 and Exodus 13:12-15).  Think of it as a kind of christening service.  At the same time, Jewish law required that forty days after giving birth, Mary should present herself for ritual purification, as childbirth was considered to make a woman temporarily unclean.  For this reason, this Feast is sometimes called The Feast of the Purification of the Virgin.   Older Anglicans may recall the service of “The Churching of Women”, which can be found in the old Book of Common Prayer, and is a sort of Cristian survival of the Jewish rite of purification of new mothers.

The customary sacrifice for the presentation of a firstborn sun was a lamb, but Luke’s gospel mentions that Mary and Joseph brought two birds (doves or pigeons) which was an allowable sacrifice for poorer families.   This detail in Luke reinforces the idea of the humility of the Holy Family, and helps understand Mary’s Magnificat, which stresses the lifting up of the poor over the privileged.

Luke also includes two characters, Simeon and Anna, who both recognize the infant Jesus as the promised Messiah.  Simeon and Anna are both figures of patient hope and faithfulness, people who have been waiting their whole lives trusting that God would deliver on God’s promises.  Simeon’s words have become famous in liturgy as the “Nunc Dimittis” and are used in the Prayer Book service of Evening Prayer:

LORD, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, / according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, / which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles, / and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Anna, a holy widow who lives in the temple, is described as a prophet, and is honoured in the Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches as St Anna the Prophet.  The only time she appears in the lectionary in the Sunday gospel readings is when the Feast of the Presentation falls on a Sunday.

Finally, another name for this feast is Candlemas. In the western church, the service began with a candlelit procession, and the priest would bless beeswax candles to be used in the church in the coming year.  Some of these candles would be distributed to parishioners for prayers in the home.  At All Saints we have observed Candlemas in the last few years when February 2 fell on a weeknight, using the Book of Common Prayer, and have distributed candles.   We will be blessing and distributing candles this Sunday in honour of this ancient Christian practice.