Category: Sermons

“I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world:
again, I leave the world, and go to the Father.”

It is one of the profoundest statements in the Gospel. It captures in a phrase the whole of religion. It suggests something about God in himself and something about God for us. The mission of the Son – his going out and his returning to the Father – belongs to his essential identity. Everything is to find its place within the relation of the Son to the Father in the bond of the Holy Ghost. Everything finds its place in the life of God. That life is opened to view in the mission of the Son. We have only to enter it so as to live it. Such is the grace of God.

Here is the blessing. The blessing is to know that you are a child of God. The children of God know that there are hardships and sufferings, for they are not to be ignored, but even more they know the victory of Christ – “I have overcome the world,” the world within and the world without.

And something of the meaning of that “overcoming” is sacramentally signified for us this morning in the baptisms of Warren and Isabella. By this sacrament, they are made “a child of God”, “an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven”, “a member of Christ.” We find the truth of ourselves in Christ. But we have to be incorporated into him so as to grow up into that life. Baptism is the beginning of spiritual life by the grace of Christ. It can begin in no other way. But as a beginning it signals and presupposes a continuing in the same, continuing in the way of grace through prayer and praise, through the ordered life of worship and discipleship in the Church, through the growing up into a spiritual understanding of what has here been conferred upon them this morning. Their baptism is a visible reminder to all of us about our baptisms – our profession, our calling.

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“I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world:
again, I leave the world, and go to the Father.”

Rogation Sunday reminds us of the cosmic dimension of the Resurrection, to the theme of the redemption of all creation. It reminds us emphatically that religion is not about an escape from the world. It sets before us a kind of theology of the land. In the story of Creation, the earth, the dry land, is said to be good (Gen.1.9,10). And we, who are made in the image of God, are also formed out of the dust, “from the ground”(Gen.2.7). We are placed in the garden of creation. The garden is the land of paradise.

In the story of the Fall, our disobedience not only alienates us from God but also from the land. The land of paradise becomes the land of sweat and toil. “Cursed is the ground because of you…In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to the dust you shall return” (Gen.3.17,18). “And the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden to till the ground from which he was taken” (Gen.3.23). In the story of Cain and Abel, the land becomes ‘the land of blood.’ Cain slays Abel in the field: “The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground,” God says (Gen.4.10). These stories are altogether fundamental to what unfolds in the story of salvation in the Old and New Testaments.

In the story of salvation, the land is also signified as the “promised land,” the land of our renewed relationship with God. The promised land is variously described in the Old Testament. Its proverbial description is the “land flowing with milk and honey” (e.g. Deut.6.3), but, in The Book of Genesis, the promised land is just “the land which I shall give you” (Gen.13.15,17). It may not be all that much to look at; it may even smell funny st certain times of the year in our rural communities especially! It signifies simply the place of our relationship with God. That is its most basic and fundamental sense.

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“Ye believe in God, believe also in me”

The gospel passage for this saints’ day commemoration is part of Jesus’ so-called “farewell discourse” in John’s Gospel from which we have been reading on the last three Sundays of Eastertide. It presents one of the most provocative, most challenging and most controversial, perhaps, of Jesus’ so-called “I am” sayings in John’s Gospel, at least with respect to interfaith dialogue. Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life.”

The month of May is ushered in on the steps of the holy apostles, Saint Philip and Saint James, so that “we may steadfastly walk in the way that leadeth to eternal life,” as the Collect puts it.

The readings for The Feast of St. Philip and St. James complement the themes of Eastertide. The fundamental orientation of the Son to the Father is ever so strongly and rather provocatively expressed in the gospel reading, “no man cometh unto the Father but by me,” Jesus says, pointing out to Philip, too, that “he that hath seen me, hath seen the Father.” And yet, Jesus says, “believe me, that I am in the Father, and the Father in me; or else believe me for the very work’s sake.”

The things which Jesus does are the works which manifest the truth and the life and the way of God. And how are we to participate in that? Through prayer. “If ye ask any thing in my name, I will do it.” All prayer is about nothing less and nothing more than asking the Father in the name of the Son by the power of the Spirit. All prayer gathers us into the fundamental orientation of the Son, “because I go unto my Father.” Here again, and providentially, we have the recurring Easter refrain, “because I go to the Father.” Everything is rooted and grounded in the life of God, the holy and blessed Trinity.

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“The good shepherd gives his life for the sheep.”

It is a powerful and familiar image. It speaks to us about care, of course, but it does so in the deeper context of sacrifice. It is about something more, though not less, than hugs and squeezes, far more, though not less, perhaps, than the comforts of pharmacare as wonderful as those can be.

We forget that this image so popular and familiar belongs to the pattern of death and resurrection and the way that pattern informs our lives of sacrifice and service. For centuries upon centuries the Gospel of Christ the Good Shepherd has been read in the Easter Season. Christ, the only Son of God, has been given to us as “both a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life.” These are powerful and profound theological concepts that relate to the quality of our lives in faith. There is something quite suggestive, important and necessary about connecting the image of the Good Shepherd to the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

There is the strong theological idea that God can make something good even out of our evil and the philosophical idea that attends it, namely, that the power of the good is always greater than all and any evil.

We forget, I think, that Christ the Good Shepherd is also the Lamb of God. We forget that the care of the Good Shepherd has cure in it, the cure of the radical dis-ease of our souls because we are so wrapped up in ourselves that we no longer know how to live beyond ourselves and for one another. We can’t on the strength of our own power. We can only through the power of Christ living within us. But that means precisely dying to ourselves and living for God and for one another, the very thing that God shows us as belonging to his very nature.

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“Now I go my way to him that sent me”

The contrasts between sin and grace, between heaven and earth, and between God and man are essential features of religious philosophy. They are always before us in the liturgy or worship of the Church and in the Scripture readings. How to think about these contrasts is a critical task of our lives in faith.

The Eucharistic readings of Eastertide present these contrasts in very powerful ways. We are being challenged to think through them in order to grasp the wonder of Christ’s Resurrection and its meaning for us in our lives. The Gospel readings for the last three Sundays of Eastertide are all taken from the so-called ‘farewell discourse’ of Jesus in John’s Gospel. Jesus is preparing the disciples for his going from us into the darkness of the death of his crucifixion, on the one hand, and into the glory of his eternal life with the Father, on the other hand. We may find the first easier to understand but I suspect we are equally challenged about both.

Jesus seems to know about what is going to happen to him and this, perhaps, perplexes us. And yet, John, especially, is always drawing our attention to the theological idea of the Incarnation, the union of God and man in Jesus Christ, as the essential tenet upon which the whole story stands or falls. The crucifixion cannot be simply an accident either from the standpoint of our humanity or from the divine standpoint. That would render it entirely meaningless and miss the outstanding theological point of the Resurrection. God is able to make something good out of our evil. Nowhere do we see the potentialities for human evil more graphically and more completely than in the Crucifixion of Christ. The whole packet of human sin, past, present and future is already comprehended in the arms of the Crucified Christ. That is why images of the Crucifixion remain such a fundamental feature of Christian art and architecture.

One of the features of the liturgical revolution, especially for Anglicans, has been to downplay this essential idea, but the ideology of progressive liberalism is bankrupt and, in one way or another, we all know this, though we don’t want to face it. We live in a “disordered world” precisely because of our attachment to the themes of material prosperity, scientific naturalism and technological progress; all of which assumptions need, at the very least, to be qualified and critically examined. The idea of a disordered world, of course, is not new – which is a good thing. Why? Because the readings that are before us today, and which have been part of the life of the Church for centuries, provide us with a way to think about our own disorders and distresses by recalling us to God’s story in Jesus Christ.

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“Your sorrow shall be turned into joy.”

It is, we might say, the promise of the Resurrection. But it is not just  ‘pie in the sky by and by’; it speaks to a profound Christian reality here and now. We “mourn and rejoice at once and at the same time in this world,” T.S Eliot suggests in his play Murder in the Cathedral. It is the very nature of the life of the Church; the life of prayer and praise is about our communion with God. And yet, we are allowed to look beyond mourning, beyond sorrow and lament to joy and delight as being the true hope and reality of our humanity. Only so can we both mourn and rejoice at one and the same time.

We live, the French Lebanese writer Amin Maalouf argues in a “disordered world.” In one way, that is not new. It belongs to the human condition, to what is the reality of the Fall. But how to live in a disordered world is the far more interesting question. I want to suggest that the Christian doctrine of the Resurrection speaks directly to the situation and reality of our living in a disordered world.

What do we mean by the disordered world? We can no longer deceive ourselves about being “assured of certain certainties” (T.S. Eliot, Preludes IV), it seems to me. We live in the ruins of a revolution. We live, certainly, in the failure and collapse of certain assumptions about material prosperity and about scientific progress. We are beset by the prophets of apocalyptic doom and, no, they are not religious fanatics so much as doomsday environmentalists. And yet, even that is being challenged. In short, without giving a full blown chronicle of the contradictions, confusions and complexities of our contemporary world, disordered seems to fit the bill rather nicely and to capture our present sense of uncertainty and unease.

How to deal with it? I think this is where an openness to what we have forgotten and dismissed and even denied is required. What is it? Simply what we are being given to see in these remarkable lessons which belong to the season of Easter. They offer nothing less than a new and radical way of looking at our humanity. The doctrine of the Resurrection, I wish to argue, speaks wonderfully and profoundly to the disorders of our world and day.

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“Your sorrow shall be turned into joy.”

It is, we might say, the promise of the Resurrection. But it is not just  ‘pie in the sky by and by’; it speaks to a profound Christian reality here and now. We “mourn and rejoice at once and at the same time in this world,” T.S Eliot suggests in his play Murder in the Cathedral. It is the very nature of the life of the Church, concentrated for us in the Great Thanksgiving Prayer at Holy Communion. And yet, we are allowed to look beyond mourning, beyond sorrow and lament to joy and delight as being the true hope and reality of our humanity. Only so can we both mourn and rejoice at one and the same time.

We live, the French Lebanese writer Amin Maalouf argues, in a “disordered world.” In one way, that is not new. It belongs to the human condition, to what is the reality of the Fall. But how to live in a disordered world is the far more interesting question. I want to suggest that the Christian doctrine of the Resurrection speaks directly to the situation and reality of our living in a disordered world.

(more…)

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“The good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.”

It is a powerful and familiar image and yet one which I think we utterly fail to comprehend. Perhaps the most familiar of all of the biblical images and certainly the one which is most commonly represented in the church culture of the Maritimes, it has, I fear, been co-opted by the therapeutic culture and emptied of its deeper meaning. It speaks to us about care, of course, but it does so in the deeper context of sacrifice. It is about something more, though not less, than hugs and squeezes, far more, though not less, perhaps, than the comforts of pharmacare as wonderful as those can be.

We forget that this image so popular and familiar belongs to the pattern of death and resurrection and the way that pattern informs our lives of sacrifice and service. For centuries upon centuries the Gospel of Christ the Good Shepherd has been read on the Second Sunday after Easter. The Collect makes the explicit point that Christ, the only Son of God, has been given to us as “both a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life.” These are powerful and profound theological concepts that relate to the quality of our lives in faith. There is something quite suggestive, important and necessary about connecting the image of Christ the Good Shepherd to the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

And yet, that is exactly what our readings do this morning. The lesson from 1^st Peter is quite explicit. It speaks about Christ “who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree” as well as signifying that it is by his stripes – his wounds at our hands – that we are healed and even more, “returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of [o]ur souls.” This is strong stuff; the theological idea that God can make something good even out of our evil and the philosophical idea that attends it that the power of the good is always greater than all and any evil.

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“Be it unto me according to thy word”

Ad Jesum per Mariam – through Mary to Jesus.  Mary does not want us to come to her, the great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther observes, but through her to Jesus. It is, ironically, it might seem, one of the great mottoes of the Jesuit order founded several decades after Luther’s outstanding commentary on the Magnificat and after the cataclysmic shift in religious sensibilities that changed the map of Europe to this day and which is part and parcel of the emergence of early modernity.

There is something quite marvelous about The Feast of the Annunciation. Perhaps one of the most common and familiar scenes depicted in Art and Sculpture, in Stained Glass and Tapestry, the Feast of the Annunciation always coincides with the seasons of Lent and Easter, sometimes even falling on Good Friday or Easter itself. By virtue of the coincidence of the 25th of March with the weeks before and after the Sunday after the first full moon of the vernal equinox which marks Easter, her feast day is sometimes transferred to the first Tuesday after The Octave of Easter; in short, after Holy Week and Easter Week. What does this mean and what is its significance doctrinally and devotionally? Simply this, Mary points us to Jesus and to our life in Christ even as her Annunciation marks the beginning in time of God’s being with us in the intimacy of his humanity which he derives from her. It signals the humility of our true humanity in the one who points us to Jesus even as it is through her that Jesus is with us.

Christ is, as Irenaeus put it is “that pure one opening that pure womb which regenerates men unto God and which he himself made pure.” That pure womb is Mary; her purity is about her pure openness to God.

Mary’s word to us in the season of the Resurrection is her word to us at all seasons. “Be it unto me according to thy word.” We attend to this text in the tones of resurrection joy. His word living in us even as it lived for us through her. Our yes to his Resurrection through her yes to the Annunciation.

“Be it unto me according to thy word”

Fr. David Curry
Eve of The Feast of the Annunciation (transf.)

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