Category: Sermons

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

We turn to God in watching and waiting upon the great mystery of God’s turning to us in the Resurrection to new life. We turn expectantly to look upon the second great act of God. There is the going forth of the Word of God in Creation and now the going forth of the Word of God in Redemption. We turn to God in joy for we behold the transition from darkness to light, from death to life. For his are the times and the seasons. We are turned to Christ, the Alpha and Omega of our very lives.

We turn through the witness of the Scriptures to the story of Creation and to the saving acts of God in the Exodus, to the images of redemption and restoration that shape our understanding of the great mystery of the Resurrection. It is all about our being gathered into the eternal motions of God’s love. We turn to him who turns to us in love.

The renewal of our baptismal vows is an important feature of our Easter vigil. It is about our intentional turning to God in the great circling acts of creation and redemption, in incarnation and passion, in death and resurrection. We turn to face the altar and profess our Christian identity in God as Trinity precisely through the great acts of his Passion and Resurrection, themselves like great circles within the greater circles of Creation and Redemption and all within the greatest circle of divine love in the going forth and return of the Son to the Father in the bond of the Holy Spirit.

On this most holy night, we rejoice in the great redire ad principia that is God’s turning us to himself in his turning to us and all in his great circling. We rejoice in the love which gives itself to us and in so doing gives us life. We only live in him who turns to live in us.

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

Fr. David Curry
Easter Vigil, 2017

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

In the quiet stillness of Holy Saturday, we turn to the grave and death of Christ. “It is finished”, it seems. All that remains are the quiet sorrows and griefs of our broken hearts in a broken world. And yet we turn to his grave. Such a turning is itself the beginnings of another motion, a seeking for something more in the honouring of what matters and is true about our loves and about our relationships with one another. We gather at the graves of our loved ones. How shall we not gather at the grave of Christ?

It is a borrowed grave given by another, by Joseph of Arimathea. That is fitting for Christ borrowed a death by borrowing a body, as Athanasius puts it, but he has made grave, death, and body his own precisely in his turning to us. And in giving us himself he gives us ourselves. Such is the turning.

The turning on Holy Saturday morning is about the fullest possible extent of reconciliation. It marks the further extension of the Passion. We turn to the grave in the disquiet of our souls but Christ hidden in the grave turns to the greater work of reconciliation. That greater work has to do with his Descent into Hell; his going down before his return in Resurrection and Ascension. It is all part of the circling. Such is reconciliation – our being returned to him from whom we have turned away.

He goes as Peter, drawing upon Zechariah, says to “preach unto the spirits in prison,” the prison of Sheol or Hades, the ‘place’ of departed spirits, the hell of our separation from God and Life. What does it mean? Simply that God seeks reconciliation with the whole of his sinful creation. Such is the radical nature of God’s turning to us in Jesus Christ. Literally nothing shall be lost but all shall be gathered up. The Epistle reading from 1 Peter points to this turning and circling, at once Christ’s Descent and then his Resurrection and Ascension. In those motions of going forth and return to “the right hand of God” the Father lies the redemption of the whole of sinful creation, past, present and yet to come. All is gathered into the eternity of God through the going forth and return of the Son.

(more…)

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

The idea of turning reaches a certain completeness on Good Friday. Circles within circles, we might say, a richness of turning and circling back and towards and upon the very principle of everything, God. Good Friday. It is the day of the profoundest reflection upon the most profoundest of themes, the death of God. For that is the radical meaning of Christ’s crucifixion.

God wills to embrace the disorders of our lives to the fullest and most impossible extent. It is literally beyond our imagining and utterly beyond our doing. We have the hardest time even thinking this mystery. And yet, year after year there is the marvel and wonder, the marvel and wonder of our turning and contemplating Christ crucified. And yet that turning is altogether about God’s turning to us.

That is the real strength and virtue of the liturgies of Good Friday. The good of this day lies entirely in the turning of Christ to us in the seven last words of the Cross. And yet, it seems we do not have the stamina to stop and pause, to think and ponder the great mystery of the crucifixion. The paradox is great if not obvious. It is all about the turning and about our turning away. Christ’s words capture the real meaning of the idea of God’s turning to us and our turning to God in repentance. The paradox is heightened even more because there is our turning in violence and abuse, in short our turning against God in the very events of the crucifixion. The point cannot be stressed enough. We are those who cry out “crucify, crucify.” We confront the hideous horror of our sins. It will not do to try and sanitize our evil, the very thing our culture in its delusions constantly does, outsourcing evil, as it were, conveniently excusing ourselves.

The point of Holy Week and especially Good Friday, without which the idea of Good Friday is meaningless, is for us to confront the radical evil of our own hearts. The evil is not out there; it is in here, in us, in you and me. So there is a turning to ourselves through our turning to Christ. In the crucified Christ we confront the hideous spectacle of our own betrayals of truth, our betrayals of God. But even more, we confront the radical meaning of Christ’s crucifixion. It is the fullest expression of his turning to us to save and redeem. The radical meaning of the turning is love, a love that is a constant circling around the principle which defines our being, the being of all reality.

(more…)

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

“Rend your hearts,” the prophet Joel bids us, “and not your garments and turn unto the Lord your God.” Nowhere is that turning more concentrated for us than in the three great holy days of Holy Week, the Triduum Sacrum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Yet our turning to God is really only the effect of God turning to us.

“Turn thou us, O good Lord, and so shall we be turned” as the prayer in the Penitential Service in the Prayer Book puts it, a prayer shaped by Joel’s words. Redire ad principia, as Lancelot Andrewes remarks, a kind of circling, repentance is really about our turning back to him from whom we have turned away. How we have turned away is seen and made visible in the hideous spectacle of the Passion where we confront all of the various forms of the disorder and disarray of human hearts and our human world. But that turning is because there is a principle to which we can return, an active principle. Such is the will of God made visible in the events of these days especially.

“A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another even as I have loved you.” This conveys the meaning of this day called Maundy Thursday. Mandatum is the Latin for commandment englished as Maundy. The events of this night concentrate for us the paradox of the double turning, God’s turning to us and our turning to God.

“He carried himself in his own hands”. In such a phrase, St. Augustine captures the paradox and the poignancy of the passion of Christ on this night, this very night.

“He carried himself in his own hands” who is delivered into the hands of his betrayers on this night, this very night.

“He carried himself in his own hands” who is delivered into the hands of his enemies on this night, this very night.

“He carried himself in his own hands” who is delivered into our hands on this night, this very night.

(more…)

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

Tenebrae is the Latin word for darkness and shadows. The term is applied to the ancient monastic services of Matins and Lauds of Triduum Sacrum which in medieval times were celebrated in an anticipatory fashion on the preceding evenings. One dramatic feature of the service is the gradual extinguishing of the candles until only one candle remains lit, itself a symbol of Christ. Then, it, too, would be hidden, symbolic of Christ’s death and the apparent victory of the forces of evil. Finally, a very loud noise is made symbolizing the earthquake at the time of the resurrection. The hidden candle would be restored to its place and all would depart in silence.

Darkness and shadows. Holy Week is the pageant of the darkness of our humanity. Our hearts of darkness are fully on display. We turn to God in Christ to learn about the darkness and the shadows of our hearts. The Lamentations of Jeremiah are read as the lamentations of Christ, Christ sorrowing for our sins which are about our turning away from God and his will and his truth. That turning away is our life in the shadows, our life in the darkness as opposed to the light.

But Tenebrae is, above all else, about God turning to us in Jesus Christ, his turning to us to convict our hearts. Nowhere is that more graphically seen than at the end of The Beginning of the Passion According to St. Luke read on this day. It is the scene of Peter’s betrayal of Christ. Luke’s master touch, his painterly and dramatic touch, if you will, is to have Peter’s third betrayal and, then to say, “The Lord turned and looked upon Peter.” Light in the shadows, light in the darkness. That look convicts Peter. It is the look of divine compassion, not angry judgement. Peter confronts himself through Jesus turning to him at the moment of Peter’s third betrayal. He remembers in that moment what Christ had predicted. His own conscience is convicted. “He went out and wept bitterly.”

The Lamentations of Christ read tonight and also on Good Friday are seen through the lens of Christ turning and speaking to us just as he turns and looks upon Peter. The effect should be the same – the tears of repentance. The light of Christ illumines the darkness, the shadows of the human heart, our heart of darkness.

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

Fr. David Curry
Tenebrae
Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

It is Joel’s word to us, his word shaping our thinking about the Passion of Christ. Turn unto God but to do what? To be cruel and brutal? To do evil? What we contemplate today in the continuation of the Passion is the continuing brutality and folly of our humanity. It seems that we turn to Christ only to betray him in one way or another. We turn to Christ only to contemplate our own brutality and evil. Yesterday we had the picture of Judas’ kiss of betrayal and Peter’s bitter tears poured out like the precious ointment from the broken box of alabaster. And today? The further spectacle of the miscarriage of justice in which we see the whole pageant of the injustices of the world. We see the cruelty of mob violence and the brutality of abuse. Christ is mocked and beaten and led out to be crucified. Where are we in all of this spectacle? We are in the crowd in one way or another. We confront the darkness of the human heart, our hearts. If we have hearts, they shall be broken, and only so shall we be whole.

He goes the way of the Cross bearing the burden of our sins. No one comes to his aid. Everything is focused on the human rage to destroy; such is his crucifixion. When he stumbles under the weight of the cross itself, his persecutors compel – force – one Simon of Cyrene to bear his cross. He is completely abandoned. Christ is the object of all our discontent, our hatred and enmity, our will to destroy. Everything that belongs to the disorder and disarray of our human hearts is on display in his Passion.

The one word from the Cross in Matthew and Mark’s account is the word which voices the utter desolation of human evil. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” It is a line from the psalms and yet it captures something of the real nature of human evil which is about our self-willed separation from the goodness and truth of God. Yet his word is a prayer, a prayer to God out of the depths of the reality of human sin. That is what is made visible to us. Only if we face the cruel brutality of ourselves can we learn something of the greater goodness of God. The lesson for us is learned by one who was part of the spectacle, a Roman centurion who looking upon the dying Christ says, “Truly this man was the Son of God.”

We contemplate in the crucified Christ something more than just the brutality and cruelty of our hearts. We contemplate the God who seeks to make our hearts clean and new. We can only come to that through the spectacle of the Passion. We confront the evil of ourselves to learn the greater goodness of God. Such is the turning, our turning away and our turning back again and in the hopes of a deeper understanding of sin and love. Such are the deep and profound lessons of the Passion. If we will turn and see. Our turning is our repentance, at once moving us to contrition and confession even the confession of Christ as the Son of God. That is the only good of this spectacle.

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

Fr. David Curry
Tuesday in Holy Week
April 11^th, 2017

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

And so it begins. Holy Week immerses us in the Passion of Christ from all four of the Gospels. We turn from The Passion According to St. Matthew on Palm Sunday to the beginning of The Passion According to St. Mark today and its continuation tomorrow.

That Passion begins with the woman who breaks open “an alabaster jar of ointment of spikenard, very precious” and pours it out upon his head, as Mark tells it. This beginning of his account of the Passion ends with the tears of Peter. Both stories are about turning to Christ, the one in anticipation of his Passion and its meaning; the other in the awareness of his sin and betrayal. “She has come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying”, Jesus says, indicating that her action already participates in his Passion.

His words are the counter to the complaint that this breaking open of the alabaster box was a “waste of the ointment” which might have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor, a reasonable point, we might think, but one which misses the deeper point of the Passion. It is not simply about our projects of worldly improvement as if the world in itself were the goal and purpose. “The poor you have with you always,” Jesus famously says, but adds more profoundly, “and whensoever ye will ye may do them good,” encouraging a strong sense of our obligation to help those in need. “But me ye have not always”. Something more is before us, namely the redemption of the world by its being turned to God in Christ. The events of the Passion disabuse us of any idea that we of ourselves can fix the problems of the world. After all, the Passion reveals that we are the problem.

(more…)

Print this entry

“Turn unto the Lord your God”

The words of the prophet Joel serve as one of the mantras for the season of Lent, a recurring refrain which shapes the Lenten journey. But even more it provides the matrix through which to contemplate the Passion of Christ which is set before us with great intensity in Holy Week beginning today, Palm Sunday.

It is the holy business of this Holy Week to be constantly turning us to Christ who has turned to us. In a way, it is really one long liturgy that begins today and ends on Easter, a kind of circling around and around the mystery of God in the work of redemption. “Rend your hearts,” Joel exhorts us and “not your garments.” It is the business of Holy Week to break our hearts. In our turning to God, we are invited to learn two necessary and interrelated ideas. The one is the truth and dignity of our common humanity as found in our being with God; the other is the disorder and disarray of our humanity which is equally common to human experience. How will we learn to think these two contraries together? Only by immersing ourselves in the fullness and completeness of the Passion of Christ as set before us in all four accounts of the Passion in the Gospels. Such is the intensity of the logic of Holy Week.

That logic is set before us today. We turn to Christ who enters Jerusalem triumphantly. Palm branches are strewed before his way and garments, too, are laid out before him and yet he enters riding, as Zechariah prophesied, “upon an ass and a colt, the foal of an ass,” in other words humbly and in meekness. Here is no cavalcade of high-end cars and limousines, no great retinue of the rich and the mighty; instead there is the sense of joy and expectancy on the part of the common people who turn to Christ, crying out “Hosanna to the Son of David.” It moves the whole city. “Who is this?” they say, to which the multitude answer, “Jesus the Prophet of Nazareth of Galilee”. Part of the project of Holy Week is for us to realise with “the Centurion and they that were with him” that “truly this is the Son of God,” God with us to redeem us. And that means confronting the sad and sorry realities of our faults and failings, not to mention the sad and sorry realities of our broken and disordered world.

(more…)

Print this entry

“Ye know not what ye ask.”

“April”, it seems, “is the cruelest month of all” (T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland). Hardly the time for a pilgrimage, a journey unless it is like that of the Magi “with the ways deep and the weather sharp, the very dead of winter” (Eliot, Journey of the Magi) all over again with more snow! Yet we enter into the deepest and most intense pilgrimage of all, the inward pilgrimage of our souls to God and with God and in God, the pilgrimage of Passiontide.

The Cross is veiled, present and yet unseen. Such is the paradox of Passiontide. We see but “in a glass darkly.” We know and yet, we do not know. We make our way to the Cross. The first word that we will hear is “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”. The darkness of our ignorance is so much greater than we realize. It embraces our willfulness, too, signaling our willful ignorance born out of pride and prejudice, born out of folly and pretense, born out of presumption and envy. Such are the realities of sin.

Yet, this is the way that somehow we must want to go, if nothing else than for the clarification of our desires and the purification of our wills. We are on a journey with Christ, only now to discover that he and he alone “by his own blood enter[s] in once into the holy place” to obtain “eternal redemption for us”. We can only follow. We can only be among the crowd, at once deceivers and deceived, and yet to learn and be changed. The Epistle reading from Hebrews presents the stark and uncompromising logic of the atonement. Christ is the Mediator between God and Man whose labour of love makes us at one with God despite ourselves, and even in and through the darkness of our ignorance and the danger of our arrogance, and even more because of our betrayals of his love. Passiontide is really the parade of our betrayals.

We want what the mother of Zebedee’s children and her sons want. What is that? We want the very best for ourselves and for our children. But, inescapably, what we want for ourselves and for our children sets us and them at odds with everyone else. A benefit for a few is necessarily at the expense of the many. The poignancy of Passiontide lies precisely in the awareness of that paradox; our good is often sought for at the price of another’s hurt.

(more…)

Print this entry