Sermon for the Third Sunday after Easter

“Because I go to the Father”

There is confusion before and after. “Because I go to the Father,” Jesus says, but what does he mean, the disciples wonder? And many, many have wondered and continue to wonder ever since. Yet, it is the recurring refrain of the Easter Season that appears time and time again, especially in the last three Sundays of Eastertide.

The refrain goes to the heart of the Christian mystery, to who Jesus is and who he is for us. “Because I go to the Father”, your sorrow – our sorrow – shall be turned into joy. “Because I go to the Father,” the Holy Spirit will come upon you “to guide you into all truth” and “to bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you”.

The phrase “because I go to the Father” speaks to the essential identity of the Son with the Father in the bond of the Holy Spirit. This lies at the very heart of the Christian religion, to the mystery of our communion with God, to our life in Christ. The phrase “because I go to the Father” speaks to the divine intimacy into which Christ would bring us and place us. He would place us in his love for the Father in the Holy Spirit.

These are resurrection words. They speak to us of the hope of the Gospel. They are resurrection words into which all that belongs to sorrow and suffering have been taken and out of which all that belongs to joy and peace come forth. The resurrection, after all, is new birth, new life. Its radical meaning is life to God with God and in God, “because I go to the Father”. Where would we be without prepositions?

His words speak to us about the pilgrimage of salvation: the way he goes for us and that way in us. The psalmist puts it this way:

Blessed are they whose strength is in thee/ in whose heart are the pilgrim ways; Who going through the Vale of Misery use it for a well;/ yea, the early rain covereth it with blessings.

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Sermon for Requiem Eucharist for Helen Katherine Gibson

“I am the good shepherd”

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus says, who also says “I am the Good Shepherd.” The two phrases go together and inform our understanding of what we do here today, an understanding of things spiritual and intellectual that were well known and understood by the very person who gathers us into that understanding.

We meet here at Christ Church for the Christian funeral of Helen Katharine Gibson. We meet in accord not simply with her wishes per se but her wishes in accord with the pattern and understanding of the Christian faith which she believed and to which she gave such eloquent testimony by her example and service, her commitment and generosity.

“O Jesus, I have promised.” They are the first words of one of the hymns which she wanted sung at her Requiem. Nothing captures more profoundly the character of Helen. Her whole life was about a promise to the Christ who promises salvation to all that seek his will. Helen knew this and knew something else. It is not a one-off moment of assertion but a life-long process of learning about “put[ting] on the Lord Jesus Christ,” about living with Christ in his body, the Church. For Helen it was essential, “the one thing necessary.” She combined in her approach to Parish and community life both the service qualities of a Martha, “busy with many things,” and the contemplative qualities of a Mary, “sitting at the feet of Jesus.” She knew that service and worship go together and belong to the nature of our life in Christ. It was not simply what she wanted; it was also what she thought was right and proper.

Though diminutive in stature, she was great-souled in character. There was a remarkable toughness to Helen. She was not one to give up and remained courteous and lively in heart and mind right to the end, undeterred by such minor things as broken bones! Those were only inconveniences. She was not one to complain. The major frustration for her was not being able to do all the things that she wanted to do. I am talking about her when she was in her nineties! For years upon years, she attended the 8:00am service here at Christ Church, nestled in the back Choir pew, often with Cecilia and Lynn Pascoe and rarely, if ever, did she miss a mid-week service at least until these last few years. Even then, she was always present either in her room or Aggie’s room at Kingsway Gardens, now Macleod House, with Bill and Wilfred and one of her Newfoundland Angels/caregivers for Holy Communion. She delighted in the worship of the Church. She had a strong sense of duty, duty towards God and duty towards neighbour. In both she was, I think, an inspiration to us all.

Helen had a strong sense of what was proper and right, not in a narrow and pedantic way but as alive to the things that matter. Shortly after coming to Christ Church some seventeen or eighteen years ago, I remember her speaking to me about two things. First, why had I omitted at the 8:00am Communion Service a part of the service commonly called The Comfortable Words? I assured her that I had no objection to The Comfortable Words but was only trying to keep the service reasonably short. Her reply was, “well, they surely don’t take that much time, do they?” She was right and needless to say I have never omitted them at the 8:00 Sunday service ever since and certainly not today!

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Sermon for the Second Sunday after Easter, 4:00pm Choral Evensong

“Come and have breakfast”

An odd text for Evensong, I suppose, but then time and sense often seem no more when we are dealing with matters of eternity. It is one of the more delightful resurrection appearances of Jesus. It takes place on the seashore, “by the sea of Tiberias.” It is, I suppose, a fish story but one which goes to the heart of the proclamation of the Resurrection. St. John’s breakfast-with-Jesus-on-the-beach story is “the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.”

Two themes present themselves. First, that the Resurrection entails “the resurrection of the understanding” and secondly, that the Resurrection involves “the reconstitution of the human community” into fellowship with God after the disarray and disintegration of our humanity, individually and collectively, in the pageant of our betrayals of God made so heartrendingly visible in Holy Week.

In Luke’s Gospel, too, Jesus appears to the disciples and asks them whether they have any food before opening to them the Scriptures. “They give him a piece of broiled fish, and of an honey-comb.” Here Jesus-on-the-beach has a charcoal fire and bids them “bring some of the fish that you have caught”. “Come and have breakfast” means come and have bread and barbecued fish.

What’s with the fish, broiled or barbecued? Nothing, really, other than the remarkable ordinariness of the extraordinary thing. Nothing, really, except an aspect of the reality of the idea of the Resurrection. That, of course, is everything. The Gospel accounts of the Resurrection, themselves the fons et origo of the Gospels have a simplicity and unadorned directness about them. They compel, I think, by the quality of their quietly restrained narrative that remains remarkably understated.

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Sermon for the Second Sunday after Easter

“For ye were as sheep going astray”

Sometimes known as Good Shepherd Sunday, the image of Christ the Good Shepherd is set before us today as part of the Easter season. It is, most tellingly, an image that connects the Passion and the Resurrection. As Isaiah says in a passage that belongs to our Good Friday liturgies, “all we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” Peter picks up on this image in this morning’s epistle. “For ye were as sheep going astray,” he says, “but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls,” on the one hand, echoing Isaiah, and, on the other hand, seeing the image of sheep and Shepherd through the Cross and Resurrection of Christ.

God as the Shepherd of his people is a powerful Old Testament image. It is further intensified and made visible in the image of Christ the Good Shepherd. He goes “through the valley of the shadow of death” for us and with us, an image which in the Passion and Resurrection takes on a greater depth of meaning and suggests the greater gathering of our lives to God.

Christ identifies himself with the Old Testament images of God as the Shepherd of his people. “I am,” he says, “the Good Shepherd.” He makes explicit what that means. In other words, he teaches us who he is for us in this image. “The good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep,” he says. We are the sheep; he is the shepherd. What that means is signaled in the events of the Passion recalled for us in 1 Peter. “Christ also suffered for us” and in his suffering we find ways to face the sufferings of our own lives, sufferings that arise from our own sins and follies or sufferings that happen to us as a consequence of the actions of others, sufferings that in some sense or another belong to the general disorder and disarray of our humanity, like sheep going astray, indeed.

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Sermon for the Octave Day of Easter, 8:00am Holy Communion

“They shall look upon him whom they have pierced”

Not again! Surely we have had enough of this text from Zechariah! But yes, and perhaps most appropriately so on The Octave Day of Easter. Why? Because it belongs to the teaching, the doctrine of the Resurrection. Because it shows the inescapable and necessary connection between the Passion and the Resurrection. As we have noted, no Passion, no Resurrection; and, even more paradoxically, perhaps, no Resurrection, no Passion.

The Passion According to St. John read on Good Friday ends with Zechariah’s text, “They shall look upon him whom they have pierced.” Now that text carries us into the Resurrection in the ways in which the idea and concept of the Resurrection comes to birth in the disciples and in us. “The same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut, where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews,” John tells us, “came Jesus into the midst.”

“The same day at evening.” What is that day? It is Easter. Holy Week began with Palm Sunday which marks the beginning of one long liturgy that ends with the Resurrection at Easter, and yet imaginatively and liturgically, Easter extends into the Octave and into Eastertide. Sorrow and joy are intermingled, each shaping our understanding of the other. There is something quite compelling about such a way of thinking.

Where are we? Behind closed doors, John says, and in that same Upper Room where Jesus had gathered with the disciples “on the night in which he was betrayed” and where he gave himself in bread and wine as body and blood anticipating his Passion and Resurrection and providing for us to be joined with him in Holy Communion. What happens behind closed doors is quite powerful and wonderful. The disciples were huddled in fear. All their hopes, it seems, had been shattered by virtue of Christ’s crucifixion and now they are in fear of persecution because of their association with him. Our minds, too, are like tombs, behind closed doors. We are dead in ourselves.

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Sermon for Tuesday in Easter Week

“They shall look upon him whom they have pierced”

This text from Zechariah concluded the reading of the Passion in Holy Week in John’s account of the Passion read on Good Friday. And yet, this text also provides us with a way to think the mystery of the Resurrection. We see that wonderfully today in the second story of the Resurrection that Luke tells.

Yesterday on Easter Monday we had the amazing story of Christ and the disciples on the Road to Emmaus; the point is that the disciples’ hearts “burn[ed] within [them]” as Jesus talked with them on the way and opened the Scriptures for their understanding about the logic of his Passion and Resurrection. In other words, they are pierced, as it were, by what they have learned in the encounter with Christ who provides an interpretation through things said and done. “He was known of them,” specifically “in the breaking of the bread.”

Here Jesus appears in the midst of the disciples. That alone is an intriguing concept. In the Christian story, God is in our midst in Jesus Christ as the Crucified and as the Risen Lord. As an image it captures the central dynamic of the Incarnation. In the Gospel reading for Easter Tuesday Jesus appears in the midst of the disciples who are shocked with joy and disbelief. Their confusion and uncertainty becomes the setting for learning about the Resurrection from the Risen Lord. Beyond the empty tomb of Easter Morn, beyond the report of Mary Magdalene and the other women, beyond the words of an angel, beyond the report of the other disciples, there is the whole matter of Christ making himself known to us in the truth of his Resurrection.

We cannot know this ‘scientifically’ in any kind of empirical sense; paradoxically, though, the Resurrection is one of the strongest concepts that makes science possible. Why? Because it affirms the intelligibility of the material world. We cannot know the Resurrection of Christ experientially only spiritually and imaginatively, intellectually, we might say. “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” as the old spiritual puts it; the point of the rhetorical question is that we are there not literally but symbolically and really in terms of our sins being the cause of his being pierced. But ask the question about the Resurrection. Were you there when he rose from the dead? And the answer is both yes and no. How do we know the Resurrection? Through the power of these accounts that show us how the idea of the Resurrection takes hold of human minds and changes human lives.

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Sermon for Monday in Easter Week

“They shall look upon him whom they have pierced”

Zechariah’s text carried us through the intensity of our meditations upon the Passion of Christ in Holy Week. His word is literally the last word of The Passion According to St. John read on Good Friday. But as we saw on Easter Day, his text also carries us into the understanding of the mystery of the Resurrection. We look upon him whom we have pierced and learn above all else the love of God for our wounded and broken humanity restored to love and by love in Christ Crucified.

To learn the Resurrection is to be pierced as well. It means to have our hearts and minds moved by what we see and hear. It means to contemplate the mystery of the Passion and the Resurrection for they are inseparable. No Passion, no Resurrection; and paradoxically, no Resurrection, no Passion. We can only make sense of the Resurrection through the Passion of Christ. This is what the Gospels show us both in Holy Week and in the pageant of the Resurrection which is before us in the Octave and through Eastertide. We are meant to be pierced into love and understanding by what is given to be seen and felt in the accounts of the Resurrection. Those accounts show us the ways in which the idea of the Resurrection comes to be known and believed.

On Easter Monday we have the Peter’s address about the Resurrection from Acts and the powerful Gospel story from St. Luke about the Road to Emmaus. Peter’s testimony bears witness to the bodily reality of the events of the Resurrection. Jesus “whom they slew, and hanged on a tree: him God raised up the third day, and showed him openly; not to all the people, but unto witnesses chosen before of God, even to us, who did eat and drink with him after he rose from the dead.” The word after is most telling. Christian witness is always about the Resurrection and that in turn is unthinkable without the Passion and the deeper meaning of the forgiveness of sins with which Peter ends his sermon in Acts. The Resurrection is proclaimed as made known to chosen witnesses “who did eat and drink with him after he rose from the dead.” A pretty powerful statement and one which is rendered even more powerful by Luke’s Road to Emmaus story. In both, the idea of looking upon him whom we have pierced is a critical part of the learning.

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Sermon for Easter

“They shall look on him whom they pierced”

What? We look upon Christ who is pierced? That sounds like Good Friday. Is this not Easter? It is. Christ is Risen, Alleluia, Alleluia! Perhaps our text should be what we see above our heads on the Chancel Arch. “I am He that liveth and was dead and behold I am alive for evermore,” words from The Book of the Revelation of St. John Divine (1.18) that speak directly to the themes of death and resurrection. Yet we can only read such words because of our “look[ing] upon him whom [we] have pierced.” Only through the Passion of Christ can we make sense of the Resurrection. For this is no spring time carnival, some playtime in the park to amuse ourselves. No. Easter celebrates the radical new life of the Resurrection. It is about new life and new birth, even as this morning we have seen the new life and new birth in the baptism of Liam Patrick Gregory Paradis.

Baptism is itself a new creation. Every baptism is about the Resurrection in us as a community of faith and in those who are baptized. The only question is whether we will live out what is proclaimed and given here this morning. It is the question for our age. We have so domesticated divinity that we find ourselves bereft and empty of any real understanding of God. As a consequence we are lost to ourselves. It is the current dilemma of our culture both within and without the Christian Church. We betray the very truth that gives us life.

The good news is that this is part of the old news which the Gospel of Christ has overcome and so is there for us to reclaim. The great good news is that we are not simply left to the barren realities of our human claims to excellence or goodness, to the specious claims about moral and cultural relativism, to the impoverished ideologies of our humanism which reveal only our inhumanity. If we want to know what it means to be human, the reality is that it cannot be found in the laboratories of science or social constructs and conventions; it cannot be found in the economic, social and political programmes to which we so desperately cling. There is a profound unease in our culture and world but there is as well as profound reluctance to face our problems. Why? Because it means two things which we would rather not face: God and ourselves.

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Sermon for Easter Vigil

“They shall look on him whom they pierced”

We can only watch and wait. That is the nature of our looking upon him whom they pierced. It is actually in some real sense the meaning of our Christian lives. We watch and wait upon God. We “look upon him whom we have pierced,” looking for the redemption of our souls and our world, looking for what is accomplished in the events of the Passion.

What we look for we also celebrate. All of our looking upon Christ crucified this Holy Week is only possible through the fruit of his passion in the Resurrection. We look upon him whom we have pierced and “behold, it is I, handle and see, a spirit hath not flesh and blood as ye see that I have.” Christ is risen! Alleluia, Alleluia! The Resurrection makes possible the Passion even as the Passion helps us to understand the true joy of Easter. No Passion, no Resurrection but paradoxically, no Resurrection, no Passion!

The events of Holy Week concentrate our attention on Christ crucified but only through the optic of the Resurrection which gives those events meaning and significance. Tonight we have watched and waited for the great and grand act of Resurrection. And what is that except God making something new and wonderful out of the nothingness of our sins and folly?

At Easter and throughout Eastertide we shall look on him whom we have pierced and contemplate in his wounds the very nature of divine love, the love which restores and redeems, the love that makes us lovely. Without that we are nothing. The Resurrection is about the something more of God’s love seen on the Cross but is more than the Cross. That is the point. Easter is about a new and greater creation, about redemption, about a reality that is more than the mundane experiences of our everyday lives. We live for God and with God because of his Passion and Resurrection.

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Sermon for Holy Saturday

“They shall look on him whom they pierced”

What is there to see on Holy Saturday? Christ is dead and buried. Nothing to see here, nothing to look upon except the closed tomb. We gather in the presence of the absence of Christ crucified.

But there is another sense to our looking upon him whom we have pierced. It is about our reflection upon the meaning of his crucifixion. The lessons for this day remind us about two things; the bodily reality of Christ’s death and burial, and the creedal concept of the descent into Hell. Both speak to the Passion as the radical meaning of divine love. Both speak to the meaning of redemption. God wills to be reconciled with the whole of his sinful creation.

Holy Saturday would have us look upon things which cannot be seen but only understood. If there is any image at all, it is one which belongs to Eastern Orthodoxy in an icon for this day, the icon which depicts Christ raising Adam and Eve from the grave, capturing the idea offered to us in Zechariah and the Epistles of Peter about Christ preaching to the souls in prison. God’s love seeks to redeem and restore the whole of our sinful humanity.

I love the idea of Christ’s descent into hell and to his preaching to the souls imprisoned there. Why? Because it says so much about the nature of our humanity, that we are rational souls with bodies and that both matter and they matter in terms of our relation to God.

Holy Saturday celebrates the peace between God and man, between God and his creation. It is paradise regained and yet this is but an interlude before the greater business of our looking upon Christ crucified and contemplating the mystery of human redemption. The greater business is the fruit of Christ’s passion in the radical new life which flows out of his reconciling love. For that we can only await in the peaceful quiet of this day, keeping vigil at the tomb in solidarity with Christ and his death for us, and then, this evening waiting and looking in expectancy for what God and God alone makes out of the realities of human sin and death.

“They shall look on him whom they pierced”

Fr. David Curry
Holy Saturday, 2015

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