Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Trinity

“Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you”

How utterly impossible, perhaps, utterly unimaginable. Yet the Collect notes, “God has prepared for them that love [him] such good things as pass man’s understanding.” And so we pray God to “pour into our hearts such love toward [him], that we, loving [him] above all things, may obtain [his] promises which exceed” or go beyond, “all that we can desire.” Remarkably concise and comprehensive, it gathers together into a kind of fulness what is presented in the Epistle and Gospel. It is the crystallization of an essential theological and ethical understanding that belongs at once to the core of Christian thought and to what moves in the thinking of the great religions and philosophies of the world. In the most radical sense, we confront the deep meaning of love, not as sentiment and emotion, but as the divine love which seeks the perfection of our loves, without which, as Paul puts it in 1st Cor. 13, “we are nothing,” and, indeed, dead to God and to one another. “No story so divine.”

No passage of Scripture is more compelling and telling about God as love than today’s Gospel. It illustrates what the Epistle says about the radical meaning of baptism theologically and ethically in terms of “being dead to sin but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Only so may we begin to make sense of the Gospel reading.

Nothing could be more counter-culture in the face of a world of hatreds and animosities, of divisions and enmities. But, in truth, it challenges and counters each of us about the divisions and divides within our own hearts. Our “enemies” are not just out there in the world, which to be sure “hates” us, as John says in the 2nd lesson at Evening Prayer for today. “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you”(Jn. 15.18,19).

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Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Trinity (in the Octave of St. Peter and St. Paul)

“The people pressed upon him to hear the word of God”

Today’s Gospel illustrates wonderfully the Epistle reading from 1st Peter. Both readings  complement rather providentially the significance of this Sunday as falling within The Octave of the Feast of St. Peter and St. Paul. They are the twin pillars and princes of the Apostolic Church and Faith grounded upon the living word of God which defines their life and ministry. The Gospel for the Feast is ‘the confession of Peter’ that Jesus is “the Christ the Son of the living God.” Jesus acknowledges this as something revealed to him not invented by him. That strong sense of commitment to the revealed word of God is what unites two very different personalities, that of Peter and Paul. As Augustine notes,”they are as one.”

They are as one in their attention to the living word revealed in Christ Jesus despite their very different backgrounds and biographies, the one a poor fisherman, we might say, as seen in this morning’s fishing story gospel, the other, a proud scholar who is blinded into sight by the vision and words of Jesus that transforms him from the persecutor, Saul, into the Apostle to the Gentiles, Paul. In the Gospel for The Feast of St. Peter and Paul, Simon son of John, sometimes identified as Simon Peter, Jesus plays upon the name Peter: “thou art Peter,” πετρος, meaning rock or stone, “and upon this rock I will build my Church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” He then invests the apostolic ministry with ‘the power of the keys,’ the grace of Christ’s forgiveness on the Cross for our sins conveyed through the sacrament of priestly absolution. (It is worth noting that Lancelot Andrewes recognized the principle of forgiveness as inherent in the sacrament of the altar, the body broken and the blood outpoured “for [us] and for many for the remission of sins”).

The Feast of St. Peter and consequently Petertide is one of the oldest Christian festivals looking back to at least the early 3rd century. Yet from the earliest times the Feast of Peter was also associated and accompanied by the commemoration of St. Paul. The two are inseparably linked as witnessed by the sermons of Augustine and Leo, for instance. Much later in the 17th century, Bishop John Cosin, attempted to restore the title “St. Peter’s, and St. Paul’s Day” in the Prayer Book. In other words, throughout the churches both East and West, both Roman Catholic and Protestant, to use later terms, Peter and Paul have been commemorated together.

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Sermon for the Feast of St. Peter & St. Paul

“Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God”

There is no greater contrast than between Peter and Paul, the one a poor fisherman, the other, a proud scholar. And yet, as Augustine argues, “they were as one”. What unites them? Christ Jesus. What does that mean? It means that Christ Jesus has overcome all the oppositions, enmities and animosities that are present in the world and in our souls.

The truth and unity of the Church is found in the confession of Christ. “No one can say, Jesus is Lord, except by the Holy Spirit,” Paul will say, just as Peter famously confesses to Jesus, “Thou art the Christ, the son of the living God.” And Jesus says to him that “Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you but my Father who is in heaven.” One of the most dominant metaphors for God in the Old Testament is God as the Rock, the rock which like a father has begotten you, the rock which like a mother has brought you to birth, as the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy puts it. “That rock was Christ,” Paul proclaims, having in mind the wilderness journey of Israel and the stricken rock out of which comes life-giving water. The image is at once static and solid and dynamic and life-giving. Christ is the stricken rock out of whose pierced side water and blood pour forth, the symbols of the sacraments by which we live from him who died and lived again. Jesus says to Simon Peter, “you are the rock upon which I shall build my Church.”

The Church, the ekklesia, referring to the gathering together in unity of heart and mind, is defined by the Lord, Kyrios, from which is derived the word, Kirk, and Church. Peter and Paul are one in the beginnings of our coming together in the blessed company of all faithful people,” the Church. Their stories are best known from The Book of the Acts of the Apostles and from their writings. The many Epistles of Paul and the two Epistles general of Peter, are essential parts of what becomes the New Testament. Yet their story is not without controversy and argument, a conflict about the universal and the particular, about Jew and Gentile, about the Old Covenant and the New, in relation to Christ and his company. It was a necessary argument out of which arises a deeper understanding and confession of “Christ, the son of the living God,” whose death and resurrection means the overcoming of all and every form of enmity and whose redemptive love is by definition for all.

“God is love,” we commonly say, forgetting that this is the love which died and rose again for us. Why? So that in him we might die, being “buried with him by baptism into death; that like as Christ was raised up from the dead … even so we also should walk in newness of life”. It is the very meaning of our life in Christ, our life in his body, our life as confessing the crucified and risen Christ.

It means dying to ourselves and our hatreds in order to live for Christ in and through one another. The mission of the Church universal proclaims our life in the body of Christ as the community of reconciliation and reciprocity. The feast of Peter and Paul in the tradition of the Church unites these two Princes of the Church and the Faith. To commemorate them is to remember the rock upon which we stand and the living word which goes forth to all the ends of the world. The rock and the mission are one.       

“Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God”

Fr. David Curry,
Feast of Peter & Paul,
June 29th, 2026.

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Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Trinity (in the Octave of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist)

“Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful”

Suffering and glory. Mercy and justice. They seem to stand in opposition one to the other yet our readings suggest otherwise and illuminate the nature of the Christian pilgrimage of the soul. It is nothing less than our participation in what has been fully and completely accomplished for us in Christ’s sacrifice but which remains to be more fully realized in us. We live by faith in what we have been given to know. We live by hope in what belongs to the truth and end or purpose of our humanity in God. We live by love that unites faith and hope and sustains us in the journey of our souls to our homeland in God both now and evermore. In short, we await “our full adoption as sons.”

That sense of participation highlights a sense of agency in our taking a hold of the life of Christ. Our seeking is our finding in order to seek all the more. It is not about possessing the truth, as if it were a thing, a consumer product, or simply a fantasy of our own devising; rather it is about being possessed by the truth. What that means is further illustrated in the witness of John the Baptist whose nativity was this week. In the tradition of the church we meet within the Octave of that feast precisely because of the significance of John the Baptist in the pilgrimage of sanctification.

An intriguing and challenging figure, his life and story is only about one thing and one thing only: he points us to the truth of God in Christ. The whole purpose of his being from his birth to his death is to point to the one who is greater than himself, the one whom he names as “the Lamb of God”. John the Baptist prepares the way of Christ by preaching of repentance. Repentance is our constant turning to God, a twofold turning, a turning towards God and a turning away from our sins which separate us from God; in short, conversion and contrition. John the Baptist preaches a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins; Christ is that forgiveness. Christ’s baptism by John in Jordan reveals the truth of God and the meaning of that truth for us in the restoration of the image of God as Trinity in us, for that is the radical meaning of our pilgrimage, our sanctification in embracing and growing into Christ.

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Sermon for the Third Sunday after Trinity

“Rejoice with me”

Humility and rejoicing are intimately connected. The one, humility, is the condition for the other, our true rejoicing in the absolute goodness of God’s love imaged in Luke 15 by the shepherd’s care, the woman’s diligence, and the father’s love. The humility of God’s charity calls us to humility against our pride. Pride is that grand delusion in which we think we are totally self-sufficient; as if we stand in need of nothing. We presume to be the centre of everything. The self-giving love of God stands opposed to the self-centeredness of our pride. Our pride opposes God and God’s ways for us and with us in our lives.

In the Gospel, “all the publicans (meaning here tax collectors) and sinners [drew near] to hear Jesus”. But there were others who objected. “The Pharisees and Scribes murmured, saying, this man receiveth sinners and eateth with them”. In other words, the Pharisees and the teachers of the Law, the self-righteous about their religion, complain about the company which Jesus keeps, the company of tax collectors and sinners. Jesus tells this parable in relation to this division between tax collectors and sinners, on the one hand, and Pharisees and the teachers of the law, on the other hand.

Tax collecting is a necessary feature of public life in any organized state or political community. Tax collectors are hardly ever regarded in a favourable light, but how much less so in the context of the Gospel? For then, they were seen as traitors to Israel because they were working for the Roman Authorities over and against their own people. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they were seen as extortionists. The business of tax collecting was out-sourced by the Roman government to local agents. They were given a quota they had to meet; anything above that was for themselves. Consequently, the tax collectors were out to get whatever they could from an unwilling and hostile population.

Traitors to Israel and extortionists of their own people. No one could be more despised and seen as a sinner than a tax collector. Hardly respectable company for a teacher of religion, it might seem, or, at least, so the Pharisees and the teachers of the law thought. After all, they saw themselves as the worthy ones, as the respectable company with whom Jesus should be, not this rabble of unworthy tax collectors and sinners. How does Jesus respond?

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Sermon for the Second Sunday after Trinity

“If our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our hearts”

The Collect, Epistle and Gospel for each Sunday provide the critical matrix for our understanding week in and week out. It is no less so for this Sunday. The Gospel is Christ’s parable which likens the kingdom of heaven to a great supper to which all who were invited made excuses. But is the kingdom of heaven a good equal to our other desires and pleasures in our concerns about property or goods or states of life, even such as marriage? How can that be? Thus the consequence  of our refusals would seem to mean not only “no feast” but equally a denial of God’s will and kingdom, as if our conveniences and interests really take precedence over God’s will for our highest good, our blessedness. Here our preoccupations about such concerns contribute to our indifference to the things of God through too much attachment to worldly concerns. Loving the things of the world too much, the things that are always passing away, leads to the neglect of the things of God, the things that are everlasting. It is one of the forms of the disorder of our loves that constantly need correction.

We have to learn, it seems, how to care for the things of our daily lives in the right way by learning to love all good things in God. “Teach us to care and not to care,” as T.S. Eliot puts it; in other words, teach us to care in the right way.

It might seem that our excuses must frustrate God’s will. But that cannot be. We can only frustrate ourselves; itself a kind of self-condemnation. God will have his house filled with those whom he makes ready as the Gospel shows, bringing them in who could not come on their own, compelling them to come in who would not come any other way. In a way, it is a strong statement of God’s love for our highest good, a strong statement about what God wants for us and which is prepared for us. “Come, for all things are now ready.” Now, in God’s time and will, not ours. But are we ready?

Yet the invitation nonetheless recognises human agency. God invites those whom he would have come willingly and freely out of love; those of whom it may truly be said, “Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God.” It suggests hospitality and conviviality in our social joys as grounded in God’s purpose and will for us. It belongs, in other words, to human redemption. As John tells us, the first miracle which Jesus did at the wedding feast in Cana of Galilee was to turn water into wine, an image of our social joys and pleasures but as belonging to God’s will for the good of our humanity; in short, our joy is found in him and his kingdom, the communion of saints. It is not simply about our private goods. To refuse the invitation is to deny the love in which we find the ultimate truth of ourselves, knowing ourselves as we are known by him, known in the radiancy of God’s glory and love which has been shown to us.

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Sermon for Encaenia 2026

“For both we and our words are in his hand, as are all understanding and skill in crafts.”

My congratulations to the grads! I commend you not only on your achievements but for your respect and commitment to the significance of the Encaenia service in the history and life of the King’s-Edgehill School. I thank you and the School for the privilege of speaking to you this morning. I would be remiss if I didn’t say how much I have missed you.

Encaenia is an intriguing concept. It marks both an ending and a beginning. In a few hours you will step up and out of King’s-Edgehill, no longer its students but alumni. That doesn’t mean the end of learning but marks a new beginning in the life-long journey of the understanding. What does the word Encaenia mean? It requires explanation. So, for only the 28th time, let me explain (or at least try to explain)!

A Greek word, Encaenia means a renewal of purpose and dedication (εν καινος), to the idea of end as meaning and purpose, the telos which directs and informs our lives; in short, the idea of living for something beyond self-interest. It belongs to the whole spiritual and intellectual enterprise of education. It has its origins in the annual dedication of sacred shrines and holy places that recall the principles of intellectual and ethical life in ancient Greek culture that contribute to the understanding of what it means to be human. It has become associated with “the annual commemoration of founders and benefactors at Oxford University in June” (O.E.D.). In short, it belongs to the intellectual traditions of the medieval universities of Paris, Oxford, Cambridge, and others which were very much aware of the philosophical and ethical cultures and communities of thought that they inherited and which shaped their life and which they honoured. Truth and beauty tam antiqua et tam nova, ever ancient and ever new, as Augustine says.

It migrated from its Euro-Mediterranean origins to academic institutions throughout the world, such as King’s-Edgehill School here in the Maritimes, that derive in some measure their history and self-understanding from those medieval institutions which carried over into modern times. At the very least, Encaenia recalls us to the long-standing traditions of learning and thus to the foundational principles of the School captured in the mottoes Deo Legi Regi Gregi, “For God, for the Law, for the King and For the People”, and Fideliter, “faithfulness” to the  principles that belong to the pursuit of learning. It is in every way a counter to the current confusions that beset our schools and colleges that reduce education to a commodity and you to consumers; in short, education as a private good, as Stefan Collini has recently noted about academia in general (LRB, June 2026), though we might ask, ‘Whose good?’ It should be clear that Encaenia speaks to education as a public good, to learning that contributes to civic and public life beyond entitlement and exploitation and rather to human flourishing and service towards others. Education has an inescapable ethical character as Plato shows at great length, not least of all in The Republic.

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Sermon for the First Sunday after Trinity

“He who loveth God love his brother also”

The Epistle and Gospel complement one another and illustrate the ethical understanding of God as Trinity. Last Sunday celebrated what God reveals about himself and about our humanity in Christ. It is not some abstract speculation or a mathematical puzzle, a kind of mystical Rubik’s cube, as it were. God is love: the mutually indwelling love of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost; consubstantial and co-eternal. That divine love is the mystery of God revealed as Trinity which, in turn, speaks to the mystery of our humanity. Mystery does not mean what is hidden but rather what is revealed. What is revealed in the witness of the Scriptures through Word and Spirit is the essential life of God in himself and for us and in us. That  demands our thinking upon what is revealed and our acting upon it.  In short, it speaks to the truth and dignity of our humanity as persons made in the image of God.

It is really all about Heaven and Hell seen in the contrast between Lazarus and Dives in today’s Gospel parable. It highlights the question about acting upon what has been revealed. Dives means the rich man. What is the point of the parable? Simply what is shown in the Epistle about the necessary connection and interplay between the love of God and the love of neighbour. They are inseparable. Yet the parable illustrates their fatal separation: a great gulf is fixed between Lazarus in “the bosom of Abraham,” an image of Heaven, and Dives, imaged as being tormented in Hell.

Trinity Sunday is the revelation of God as essential love and life, the love and life which is revealed and made known as essential for our humanity. Without love, we are nothing. “God is love and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.” It is as simple as that and yet so profound. “We love God because he first loved us.” But that love is meant to live in us and belongs to the true end and purpose of our lives as human beings, namely, to love as God loves. Love is motion towards another but if we neglect or ignore one another then love is not alive and moving in us. That is the meaning of Hell, the complete and utter absence of love for one another and for God who is love. Hell is a denial of the ethical, an absence of the good.

The Athanasian Creed shows the intimate and necessary connection between the revelation of God as Trinity and of theIncarnation of Christ which makes known what belongs to the radical truth of our humanity. Who we are is found in God, in God’s eternal knowing and loving of our humanity. In other words, our being known in God’s knowing of us. But that extends to our knowing and loving of one another; in short, the principle of the ethical about what is good to think and be and what is right to do that necessarily concerns our being and care for one another. All of this turns on what it means to be a person.

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Sermon for the Feast of Corpus Christi

“For the bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and
giveth life unto the world.”

In the spring of 1983, Marilyn and I were in Florence for the Feast of Corpus Christi. We processed around the cathedral with the Sacrament, singing Martin Luther’s great hymn ‘Ein’ Feste Burg’, before attending Mass. More than just an ecumenical moment it conveyed a deeper sense of the larger meaning of the catholic faith.

The Feast of Corpus Christi goes back to the 13th century and became ‘universal’, at least in the West, in the 14thcentury. Through the influence of “Blessed Juliana of Liege,” at whose insistence the institution of the feast is attributed (c. 1240), and along with the Eucharistic devotions of Thomas Aquinas, which have become associated with the Feast, the celebration of Corpus Christi belongs to a Western Christian interest in the question about our participation in the saving work of Christ.

The Feast emerges out of the cauldron of controversy about the meaning of the Holy Eucharist as the central act of Christian worship. Celebrated on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, it relates back to the “Institution of the Holy Eucharist” on Maundy Thursday but without the overwhelming concentration on the Passion during Holy Week. In this Feast, the institution of the Holy Eucharist is looked at from the standpoint of our being continually sustained by the fruits of his Passion through the divinely ordained means of our participation by grace in the divine life itself.

The Reformers did not retain this feast in their various calendars of commemoration. Why? Because, in my view, at the time of the Reformation the Feast had become associated with a particular theory about the action of the Mass, namely, “transubstantiation,” albeit in a form hardly recognizable as deriving from Thomas. Cranmer and the subsequent English Reformers were countering what Fr. Crouse called “a superstitiously materialistic notion of the Presence, popularly associated … with a debased idea of transubstantiation”, and one which undermined the Chalcedonian sacramentalism to which classical Anglicans were committed as constituting an important aspect of essential catholicism.

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Sermon for Trinity Sunday

“How can these things be?”

The mystery of God reveals the mystery of our humanity; the one envelopes the other. Trinity and Incarnation are intimately connected and inseparable. They go together. “Thou hast but two rare cabinets, full of treasure,” as the poet George Herbert puts it, “The Trinitie, and Incarnation”. He highlights what is emphasized in the Athanasian Creed, namely the connection and interplay between these two essential doctrines revealed to us. He goes on to say, “Thou hast unlockt them both,/ And made them jewels to betroth/ the work of thy creation,/ Unto thyself in everlasting pleasure.” This is a commentary on the Lesson from Revelation indicating how the fullness of the mysteries of the Trinity and the Incarnation embrace, contain, and restore the whole of creation and especially our humanity. Our task is to make the effort to enter into  what is revealed and made known to us; the mysteries of grace perfecting nature not destroying our nature. Nowhere is that more concentrated than in the Athanasian Creed, itself a creedal reflection on God and our humanity born out of the witness of the Scriptures.

“Behold, a door was opened in heaven,” John tells us in his Book of Revelation, the last book of the Christian Scriptures. Earlier this week on Tuesday after Pentecost, in the Gospel from John 10, Jesus identifies himself as “the door of the sheep,” one of the so-called ‘I am’ sayings about the essential divinity of Christ revealed through his humanity. The lesson from Revelation is a lovely summary of the whole pageant of revelation, with the books of the Old Testament symbolized in “the four and twenty elders” referring to the writers, and the New Testament, especially the four Gospels, symbolized by “the four living creatures.” The whole vision is not just about what is seen, but rather, through the telling image of the door, it is what we enter into and in which we participate. And what is that? The life of prayer and praise as the signalling the whole purpose of creation and our humanity.

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