Sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

“They have no wine”

Mary’s statement describes in a simple phrase our human predicament. We are without. We lack the means for our true joy, for our true blessedness. In the background to her remark there is an ancient Jewish saying: “without wine there is no joy”. “They have no wine” means, we may say, they have no joy. But ‘they’ are ‘us’. We have no wine, no joy.

The deeper point is that we can have no joy in ourselves. We lack, we might say, the wine of divinity, the source and the occasion of all joy, the wine that truly gladdens and rejoices the heart and soul. To know our lack, however, is saving knowledge. To know our limitations is to be alert to the possibilities of their being overcome – not by us but by the grace of God for us and in us. To know our lack is to be alert to the real presence of divine grace in our midst.

I cannot think of this gospel story without recalling the phrase “the wine of divinity” used by Fr. Robert Crouse in a sermon on this gospel. A great teacher and scholar of international standing and repute, he was a friend and a mentor to a great number of priests and scholars around the world. The Rev’d Dr. Robert Darwin Crouse passed away yesterday. Many of us owe our love and what knowledge we have of such outstanding theological and poetic figures as Augustine and Dante, for instance, to Robert. Through his teaching in hundreds and hundreds of sermons over many years, many people, both clergy and lay, have learned a love of God and an understanding of Christian doctrine, particularly as expressed in the liturgy of The Book of Common Prayer. Acknowledged as “the conscience of the Canadian Church” by another theologian, Canon Eugene Rathbone Fairweather, Robert’s voice was the calm still voice of wisdom and understanding, a voice which has not always been heeded by the Anglican Church, but which lives on through his writings and teachings and, perhaps, in some small way through his many, many students, of which I count myself one.

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Sermon for the First Sunday after the Epiphany

“They found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors”

It is an arresting and an intriguing scene. Only Luke tells this story, the only story that belongs to the boyhood of Jesus really. And yet, even that is only partly right. The story really marks the transition from childhood to adulthood. There is, I am afraid to say, no teenage Jesus! We might wonder what we have created in our world of arrested adolescence!

The scene, in a way, is Jesus’ Bar Mitzvah, his coming of age through the study of the Scriptures, meaning the Hebrew or Jewish Scriptures, what we call the Old Testament. The parallel in the Christian tradition would be Confirmation, undertaken once again through the study of the essential principles of the Christian Faith revealed in the witness of the Scriptures, meaning the Old Testament and the New Testament.

This is an epiphany story. Something is being made known to us about Jesus. And in a way, this story, which has been read for centuries upon centuries on The First Sunday after Epiphany, signals and proclaims the Doctrine of the Epiphany. What is that? Epiphany turns our attention to the divine reality of Jesus Christ, emphasising the aspect of the divinity of Christ in the story of his Incarnation. The light of Epiphany is the light of divine teaching made manifest in and through the humanity of Jesus.

In this arresting and intriguing scene, Jesus is both student and teacher: student in terms of his humanity; teacher in terms of his divinity. God is the teacher. About what? About the high things of God which are revealed to us through the humanity of Jesus.

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Sermon for the Second Sunday After Christmas

“But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord
appeared unto him in a dream”

We have had occasion to think about Mary keeping all the things that were said about her son and “pondering them in her heart”. We, too, like the Shepherds have had occasion to come to Bethlehem and “see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us”. Now we hear about Joseph, Joseph thinking “on these things”.

Matthew provides us with a window to behold the mystery of Christmas through the eyes of Joseph. What things was he thinking? Curious and difficult things, actually, disturbing and troubling things really. He has just discovered that his betrothed, Mary, is with child. Matthew quickly adds “of the Holy Ghost”, but that is something not yet known by Joseph. He “being a just man”, Matthew tells us, “and not willing to make her a public example, was minded to put her away privily”. What does this mean? Well, he is thinking about the scandal of Mary’s being with child and not through him. He is aware that according to Jewish law and custom this means she is guilty of adultery and, therefore, subject to the public act of being stoned to death! His thought is to “put her away privily”, which does not mean to kill her but to have her sent away to somewhere private and hidden. There is a quality of sadness about the thoughts of Joseph.

“But while he thought on these things”, these dark and disturbing things, these things which must have troubled him greatly, as greatly, perhaps, as Mary being troubled at the Angel’s words that “the Lord is with thee” and that she should “conceive and bear a son” and all without knowing a man, “behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream”. What follows is explanation that only an angel of the Lord could provide.

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Sermon for the Octave Day of Christmas

“Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord has made known unto us.”

Literally, “this thing which is come to pass” means “this saying that has happened”. Thus, does Luke proclaim, in his own way, the essential Christmas message about the Word made flesh. Jesus Christ is the Word made flesh, the saying (το ρημα) that has happened (το γεγονος). It is something made known to us through the witness of men and angels, through what has been heard and seen, declared and written down. In a way, the liturgical celebrations of the Christmas season offer a profound and sophisticated commentary upon the idea and concept of Revelation.

There is a rich fullness to the Christmas story concentrated in the rather crowded scene at Bethlehem. This fullness relates directly to the very dynamic of the Christian faith. Christian contemplation is the exact opposite of Buddhist meditations, for example, precisely because it is about the fullness of images (and at the fullness of time, too!) and not about the emptying of images from our minds as if they were essentially illusions. It counters, too, the despair and emptiness of the contemporary culture of nihilism. For in “the fullness of the time”, to use Paul’s phrase in Galatians, all time finds meaning.

The consequences of this fullness of images are huge. To put it simply, it provides the logic for redemption. The images convey meaning and truth. There is something that has happened in time and in space. While the material and the physical, the sensual and the tangible are not everything, neither are they nothing; they have their substance and meaning precisely in the embrace of the spiritual and the intellectual; in short, in God. There can be no greater intersection between the eternal and the temporal than what the Christian story proclaims and no place where that is more concentrated for us, it seems, than in that crowded scene at Bethlehem. And here is the redemption of our humanity, the redemption of desire, of love; in short, the redemption of all that belongs to the truth and being of the created universe.

It is found in the mystery of Christ’s holy birth. It is found in the simple humility of this holy scene at Bethlehem.

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Meditation on the Feast of the Holy Innocents

“Then Herod … sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem”

There is no greater challenge to the cultural celebration of Christmas than the Feast of the Holy Innocents. We like to think that Christmas is for children and for the child in all of us. We might want to think again. God “madest infants to glorify [him] by their deaths.” Now, there is a show-stopper! A real shocker. Try marketing that!

And yet, this is inescapably part of the Christmas story, albeit a part of the story we easily overlook. It recalls us to the inescapable political occasion for the nativity of Christ in Bethlehem – a census for taxation purposes – and then ups the ante in terms of the real-politique of power and domination. Herod embarks upon a policy of infanticide, killing all the little children in Bethlehem. Why? Out of fear for a rival king, the child King of Bethlehem, as he has heard from the Magi. He embarks upon a human scorched earth policy to destroy a potential rival to his power.

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Meditation for The Feast of St John the Evangelist

“That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you”

There can be no greater affirmation of the central mystery of the Christian Faith than this Epistle reading from The First Letter of St. John. It echoes, of course, the great Christmas Gospel proclaimed at the Mass of Christmas Night. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God … And the Word was made flesh.”

And that is precisely the point which John is driving home in his Epistle. He is arguing for the absolute and tangible reality of the Incarnation. This man Jesus Christ is “Very God of Very God.”

“That which was from the beginning – heard, seen, looked upon, and handled by our hands is the Word of life.” He bears witness to the divinum mysterium of Christmas. The Word and Son of the Father who is Light and Life is Incarnate; the God made Man is Jesus Christ.

And he is telling us that this is no passing knowledge – a matter for a moment, a mere factoid of idle information – but rather a truth that reveals “eternal life,” the truth upon which our lives ultimately depend for their truth and meaning.

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Sermon for the Feast of Saint Stephen

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and
stonest them which are sent unto thee.”

Jerusalem!? I thought Christmas was in Bethlehem! It is, but to understand the mystery of Christmas, we cannot lose sight of Jerusalem.

Bethlehem and Jerusalem are the two centers around which Christian contemplation revolves like an ellipse. We cannot appreciate and celebrate the meaning of Christ’s holy birth in little Bethlehem without regard for the events of betrayal and death in Jerusalem. “Jesus Christ was born for this,” as the carol, In dulci Jubilo, reminds us. “This,” of course, is death and sacrifice, and only so can we celebrate the birth of a Saviour who comes that he may go “through the valley of the shadow of death” for us; only so “hath he ope’d the heavenly door and man is blessed for evermore;” only so we “need not fear the grave.”

Christmas is not a happy-clappy story, all fuzzy and warm with sentiment and good cheer. No. The joys of Christmas are deeper and greater than the sentimental trappings of this overly commercialised and rather caramelized season. Christ’s holy birth addresses the deep disorders of the human heart and the human community. Bethlehem is oriented towards Jerusalem from the get-go.

Remember Advent Sunday? We began the holy season of Advent with the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem and his cleansing of the Temple. In other words, we make our journey to Bethlehem with the realization of the deeper meaning of God’s coming to us in the humanity of Jesus Christ. “He borrowed a body that he might borrow a death,” as St. Athanasius puts it. Death and sacrifice are inescapably part of the Christmas picture.

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Sermon for Christmas Morning

“When all things were in quiet silence
and the night was in the midst of her swift course,
then, thy almighty Word leapt down from heaven, from thy royal throne.”

These wonderful and wise words from the Book of The Wisdom of Solomon capture prophetically the wonder and the mystery of Christmas night and bring us into the holy quiet of Christmas morn. They refer, in their context, to political judgment; the Word of God is the heavenly warrior who comes to bring justice and peace. But theologically, the leaping down of the Word of God who takes flesh and is born of Mary is our peace and justice. “The Lord our Righteousness,” as Jeremiah says. He is our redeemer. He is Jesus our Saviour. Christmas morn holds us in the quiet wonder of God’s being with us in the intimacy of Christ’s holy birth.

Bethlehem is the humble scene of the redemption of our humanity. It is judgement, inescapably. It is the divine judgement upon our wounded and broken humanity, torn apart by sin and pride, bloodied and terrible in the cravings for power and domination. The occasion of Christ’s holy birth, as St. Luke makes clear, is entirely political – a census dictated by the Roman powers, a census taken for the purposes of taxation and control, as all censuses are. Yet God uses the powers of the world to effect his greater will and purpose for our humanity. All the wheels of the great power of Rome are turned by God to bring Joseph and Mary, heavy with child, to the lowly stable in little Bethlehem. A myriad of prophetic statements begin to find their newer and deeper truth in what unfolds in the birth of the Child Christ.

It confounds the politics of the world. A child born to be king, not in any worldly sense of power and majesty, but in the far greater sense of overruling ourselves in our selfishnesses and self-preoccupations, in the far greater sense of overturning a world turned in upon itself, and in the far, far greater sense of turning the world back to its truth in God. God wills to engage our humanity to bring redemption, a redemption that is cosmic in scope.

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Sermon for Christmas Eve

“And the Word was made flesh”

Christmas Eve! And yet, not a mention of the name of Jesus or Christ either in the great epistle reading from The Letter to the Hebrews or in the great gospel reading from the Prologue to The Gospel according to St. John! Plenty of mention in the carols, of course, but doesn’t seem a bit strange that on Christmas Eve, there is no mention in the Scripture readings of the name of Jesus Christ? No mention of Santa Claus, either, I suppose! And yet, this text is the great and definitive Christian Christmas message. “And the Word was made flesh.”

Christmas means the Mass of Christ; in short, the celebration of Christ. We celebrate the birth of Jesus in the simple and lowly scene of little Bethlehem. What does that mean? Why all the fuss and bother about another birth of another child from another time and in another world; long ago and far away, as it were? “What mean ye by this service?” Moses, in The Book of Exodus, asks in relation to the Passover. A question that defines the worship of Israel, it carries over for us, I think, into this and every service. What do we mean by the celebration of Christ and his nativity?

We could respond historically to say that His Birth quite literally changed the world, which is quite true. It placed the world upon an entirely new foundation, shaping cultures and generations yet to come, including even our own, despite its rage and spite against all things religious, despite its demand that religion, if it is to be allowed at all, serve our own immediate and practical concerns and interests. Whether His Birth will change you, make you look at yourself and one another in a new way, is another question.  The answer is really up to you in the sense of either pondering this mystery in your heart or running away from it in disgust, dismay, and denial. But the mystery remains. But what is that mystery?

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Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Advent

“The Lord is at hand. In nothing be anxious”

Are we ready, really ready, for Christmas? Do we really know what it means to be ready? Ready, exactly, for what? Perhaps that is why we are often so anxious.

Therein lies the problem and the necessity of the Advent season. The problem is that in so many ways, Advent is anticipatory of Christmas. There is the sense of impending fulfillment such that the celebrations already seem to have begun. Yet Advent is the season of expectancy, a season of hope in the realization of what has come to pass, “this thing that has happened,” the holy birth of Christ.

Advent looks to Christmas and so it seems that Christmas has already come. We find it hard to remain in that mode of holy waiting, of holy expectancy. We rush on to what we think is the celebration. We forget the message sounded so profoundly and so importantly in the scripture readings for this day.

“The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.” What powerful words, words, too, which have shaped our liturgy, words which inform the blessing at every service of the Holy Eucharist. “The Peace of God which passeth understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.”

The Peace of God! This seems so diametrically opposed to the mad rush and busyness of this season, a holy season that threatens to become anything but holy, anything but peaceful and calm. (more…)

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