The Cross and the Crib: A Homily for the Feast of S. John the Evangelist

Genesis 1:1-5, 12-19
Psalm 92:1-2, 11-14
1 John 1:1-9
John 20:1-8

St. Thomas's Anglican Church

Toronto, ON

***

Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; he saw the linen cloths lying, and the napkin, which had been on his head.

+In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

There is a certain discordance when the church transitions from Advent into the Christmas season. For four weeks we hear prophecies of God’s judgement of the Earth, calls from John the Baptist to repent, and hymnody and music that invokes the imminence of the eschaton and the majesty and grandeur of Heaven in our very midst. As the hymn Conditor alme siderum puts it.

At whose dread name, majestic now,

All knees must bend, all hearts must bow;

And things celestial Thee shall own,

And things terrestrial, Lord alone.

There is an imminence and closeness of the apocalypse in Advent with the proclamation that God’s judgment is near and that this world is temporary and will end.

We cut and pivot then to Christmas, and the smallness of the Holy Family attempting to find a place for Mary to give birth because there is no room in the inn. The bombastic “Let all mortal flesh keep silence,” gives way to “Silent Night”. The thunderous “Lo he comes with clouds descending” gives way to “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. The Feast of Saint John the Evangelist falls in this Christmas season, and while we celebrate the birth of Christ the lectionary gives us not the prologue of Saint John’s Gospel which explains the incarnation of Christ that lies at the heart of the nativity—the entry of the Divine Logos into the world and taking on our fleshly and human substance. Instead we jump ahead to the end of John’s Gospel and witness Mary Magdalene discovering the empty tomb, and Peter and the Disciple whom Jesus loved entering the tomb and discovering only the burial cloths Jesus was wrapped in.  There is no body to be found here.

What one might first consider to be a thematic discordance however reveals the great depth and mysteries of Jesus’s incarnation in its totality. Jesus’s incarnation embraces the fullness of the human experience from his birth, to his childhood, through his adulthood, into his passion and death, and concluding in his resurrection and ascension. These events in Jesus’s life are not isolated events or stories from one another, each are related to one another and define and give meaning to each other. 

Jesus’s birth in great humility is informed by the humility of his passion, death, and resurrection; and Jesus’s triumph in his passion, death, and resurrection inform his triumphant birth. Bethlehem points to Golgotha, and Golgotha points to Bethlehem. The two events are wrapped up and connected to one cannot be separated. You cannot have the intimacy of the creche without the isolation of Calvary. An Eastern Orthodox hymn for Feast of Saint Joseph of Arimathea speaks of Jesus’s incarnation in a powerful way that links Jesus’s birth to his passion:

A virgin womb, conceiving thee, revealed thee;

a virgin tomb, receiving thee, concealed thee.

Eastern Christian theologies of time do not make hard distinctions between temporality and eternity. God is eternal and is constantly working through all things and all events. He is present in and through all. God as he is manifests in his activity. God is the life of the living and the being of things eternal. There is no beginning or end in God, every aspect of Jesus’s life is a theophany and is linked back to its source in God.

There are many parallels that we can find between the nativity story and the empty tomb in John’s Gospel (and indeed in all accounts of the empty tomb). Jesus as an infant is cradled by Mary his mother, Jesus in death is cradled by Mary his mother as seen in Michelangelo’s Pieta. Eastern Orthodox iconography on the nativity and resurrection bring this into greater perspective. Jesus as an infant is wrapped in swaddling clothes, Jesus in death is wrapped in linen cloths. Jesus as an infant is laid on a stone box in a rock cave, Jesus in death is laid in a stone coffin in a rock cave. Jesus at the beginning of his life and at the end is wrapped in cloths and laid in a coffin-like box. 

Professor Noel Terranove of the University of Notre Dame comments on this, “Who would lay a child in a coffin? What macabre motive would make an artist paint a baby as a mummy and give him a tomb as his nursery?  Indeed, the motive is not macabre, but joyful and eschatologically triumphant: we only understand the significance of the incarnation if we hold it in tension with Jesus’ saving death; we may not separate the two. This also reminds us that the liturgical year commemorates events in the life of Jesus, but it never parses the paschal mystery.” The paschal mystery is the fulfilment of the incarnation and the two are linked together.

The seeming discordance of Advent, Christmas, and the Feast of Saint John the Evangelist are actually a harmony that brings the fullness of Jesus’s incarnation to us. These different elements come from the same light. Fr. Al Rodriguez from the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, TX likens this incarnational reality to light shining through a prism. The Light of God coming into the world shines and is filtered and refracted through the prism of humanity and the human experience. Through Jesus we see the beauty and splendor of the human experience as that light embraces, redeems, and restores our humanity. No matter what part of the story we encounter we can see the fullness of Jesus’s humanity and God’s splendor and light in all of its colourful brilliance.

John’s Gospel bridges these disparate elements together even though it lacks the usual images of the nativity story. This is because, quoting again from professor Terranova, “The birth of Christ and his salvific death form the cosmic fulcrum upon which the beam of human history rests, with creation and eschaton at each end.  In a nativity icon this is super concentrated.” We see both the beginning and the end in the nativity, and we see that the beginning and the end are invariably linked together. The messiness, the challenges, and the difficulties of the human experience are therefore held as precious in this space and time, and in that moment, we see God in his dread and glorious majesty, wrapped in linen cloths and laid to rest in a cave while the world passes by. The eschaton is both triumphant and silent.

Our hope lies within these mysteries. As the prologue of John’s Gospel puts it, “No one has ever seen God; the only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known,” and Jesus later says “If you had known me, you would have known my Father also; henceforth you know him and have seen him… Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father in me” We cannot fully perceive or understand God, we as humans cannot behold the totally of the divine, but through Jesus, through God the Son we are able to behold the Father because Jesus’s incarnation becomes the bridge that unites God and humanity. Through Jesus, the Word of Life is made manifest and we can encounter that which was from the beginning, we can hear, see, and touch God. 

Humanity is no longer shrouded in the darkness of a cave because the light of the world came into that space and illuminated it. Our humanity becomes luminous and we can walk together in that light with one another and with the whole of that creation that God called good in the beginning. 

The end and the beginning are not the same. Time is not cyclical. The very nature of our world is one of beginnings, growth, change, and endings. Even the beginning and end of Jesus’s time on Earth are not the same, and yet the great wonder of this eschatological revelation is that the end and the beginning are linked to each other and point to God’s redemptive work to make and restore creation because that beginning and that end, that light that is refracted through the prism of human experience all comes from the same source—God. God is manifest and present in each and every moment of our lives because Jesus experienced the totality of human existence in all of its wonders and its limitations, and in doing so made our humanity limitless through his birth, life, death, and resurrection. Just as Jesus embraces the fullness of the human experience, we too are invited to embrace the fullness of Jesus’ existence. 

As we contemplate on Jesus’s humanity in the crib and in the coffin, we see the fullness of his divinity, and from that we see what our own humanity is when it is fully redeemed and restored by God’s love. God sent his son Jesus to be born and to live and die as we are born and live and die so that through the resurrection, the revelation of God’s love is made manifest in this world. This world began with God’s love, it is redeemed by God’s love, and it will end in God’s love only to be made anew in God’s love. Jesus is the manifestation, promise, and object of that love for God and for us. The same Jesus who embraces our humanity, in all of its wonders and all of its limis.

Worthy is the lamb who was slain, and worthy is the lamb who was born. Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.

Amen.

James+

The Path Towards Kenosis: A Homily for the Twelfth Sunday after Trinity

Jeremiah 15:15-21
Psalm 26:1-8
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

Preached over Zoom at St. Thomas’s Anglican Church
Toronto, ON

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

Poor Peter. You really have to feel for him. The scene in today’s Gospel follows immediately after last week’s scene where Peter correctly identifies Jesus as “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” and receives the highest of praises from Jesus for this divinely inspired revelation. Any yet, soon thereafter, Jesus rebukes Peter, rather harshly, because Peter tries to dissuade Jesus from heading to Jerusalem to face his Passion. Jesus tells Peter “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men.” 

Perhaps Peter is riding high on the praise he received from Jesus in last week’s gospel and hopes to once again provide some of that divinely inspired insight to encourage or convince Jesus that he does not need to go to his death in Jerusalem. Peter had good intentions that were informed by his personal relationship with Jesus and the theology of his time. As Origen of Alexandria and Saint John Chrysostom explain, Peter could not conceive of the Messiah, the Son of the living God, having to endure suffering and death and was therefore afraid of what Jesus was saying to his disciples. Death was something beneath God, something that God could not experience. The Messiah was not supposed to die, rather he was to restore the Earthly Kingdom of Israel and establish it over all the nations. The Messiah was to make a new empire that would conquer and subjugate the powers of this world. This was what Peter was taught, this was the eschatological hope people had in the Messiah, and so he sought to rebuke and correct Jesus for not fulfilling his expectations. Peter had good intentions.

As the saying goes, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Peter desires a world free from the injustices of his era, but he has set his eye on earthly or human things—the desire for power and might making right by replacing one empire with another. This scene between Peter and Jesus evokes the final temptation the Devil puts before Jesus in the Wilderness. The Devil took Jesus to the top of a high mountain showed him all the kingdoms and empires of the world and tells him “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Satan offers Jesus his own empire over all the earth to rule and dominate. Jesus replies in a manner foreshadowing his rebuke of Peter “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” Both Peter and Satan attempt to draw Jesus away from the will of God and focus on earthly power and might, and though Peter’s intentions were good, Jesus still draws the comparison between the two because ultimately the consequences of Peter and Satan’s attempts are the same, focusing on power and might causes people to stumble on the path towards righteousness.

Rétire-toi, Satan by Jacques Joseph Tissot

The image on the front cover of the bulletin, Rétire-toi, Satan by the 19th century French artist Jacques Joseph Tissot, imagines the scene between Jesus and Peter in a more violent manner. Jesus pushes Peter behind him to keep Peter from blocking his way to Jerusalem. Peter is a literal stumbling block in Jesus’s ministry that has to be pushed away from the road lest he and others trip and fall on their way. Yet even as Jesus rebukes Peter, he provides consolation to him and to the other apostles and explains why he must go through his Passion. 

Jesus in his incarnation experiences an act of kenosis, or an act of self-emptying of himself, save for his love for us, in order to live among us and to suffer, die, and rise again to redeem and restore this world. Jesus empties himself of power and might, and through his Passion he receives glory and majesty and opens the way for humanity to be transformed. The Kingdom of God is made manifest by Jesus’ sacrificial love on the cross. Jesus therefore invites us to become like him by taking up our own crosses and following after him so that we too can manifest the Kingdom of God in this world. 

Earthly and human power cannot alone change this world. Too often we are caught up in our pride, greed, and wrath and these things can cloud our judgment when we try to follow Jesus. We can be like Peter and focus on the earthly without giving thought to the heavenly. We can desire our own mini empires to rule and dominate over. We may have good intentions, but if our desire is not aligned with the Heavenly Will, if we focus on our own will and desire for power and wealth, we will stumble along the road following Christ. We can end up responding to harm and evil done to us in ways that can compound the error. When that happens nothing truly changes, nothing is transformed. However, we can also be like Peter because by the Grace of our Father in Heaven we, as individuals, as a community, and as Church can embrace that which is “really life-giving and detecting what might appear to be life-giving and freeing, but in reality is killing us” and “make a decision about what is of ultimate value and importance in this life.” as Fr David said last week. When we accept Jesus’ invitation to follow him, we become open to being transformed by him.

Jesus’s kenosis, his emptying of himself, is the model that we ought to embody if we wish to follow after him. Jesus invites us to empty ourselves, deny ourselves, turn away from our pride, our ego, and our domineering, and take up our cross, those tools of our own sacrifice, service, and love, to follow him. We empty ourselves to find ourselves, and in doing so we can orient our will towards God. Saint Jerome in his commentary on this Gospel says that “he who lays aside the old man with his works denies himself. He is one who says: ‘But I live no longer, but Christ lives in me.’ And he who is crucified to the world takes up his own cross. Now the one to whom the world has been crucified is following the crucified Lord.” When we empty ourselves, Christ comes to embody and dwell within us. 

How can we do this though, how do we deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus?

Turning to Saint Paul, the Epistle for today from Romans gives us the instructions on how to do this. I will not repeat the whole of the Epistle, but in it Paul emphasizes on the need for humility and love to be the guide on our way to follow Jesus, “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; never be conceited. Repay no one evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends upon you, live peaceably with all.” When we act with love, compassion, and justice to all, including those who have wronged us, we embody Christ’s love for all people. Serving the needs of others opens the way to denying our pride. We no longer exist solely for ourselves or those things we can seek to dominate over, we walk the way of service, sacrifice, and love with Christ who redeems and transforms this world.

Peace and love towards not only our friends and neighbours, but also towards our enemies can sweep away the stumbling blocks that keep us from following Christ because peace and love fundamentally transforms the path that we are walking upon and clears our vision as we walk that path. When we turn away from might, power, pride, ego, and earthly things we align ourselves to the Will of God and it is in this place that we receive the divine wisdom to identify correctly who Jesus is and to follow after him. Rather than building an earthly empire of might and power, we work with Christ to build the Kingdom of God here on Earth. We no longer walk that road alone but do so as a community supporting one another, we each become like Christ to one another. We carry our crosses, but we are also carrying each other’s crosses. 

Here, in this place, we find Jesus among us, and we will see the “Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

Amen

There's Something About Mary (Magdalene Edition): A Homily for the Feast of S. Mary Magdalene

Acts 13:27-31
Psalm 30.1-5
John 20:11-18

St. Thomas’s Anglican Church
Toronto, ON (Preached over Zoom)

+In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit

Mary Magdalene from James C. Lewis's
Icons of the Bible project.

Mary Magdalene is a figure who inspires much of our imagination. Her constant, but often silent presence in the Bible has inspired many stories and legends, works of art, and theological discourses and debates. She is mentioned twelve times in the Bible by name, more than any of the apostles, she financed Jesus’s ministry (though the gospels are silent as to how), she is said to have carried seven demons and was healed by Jesus, and here in the Gospel of John she is the first to encounter the risen Christ and is instructed to tell the apostles of the resurrection, earning her the title of the Apostle to the Apostles and Equal to the Apostles.

Mary is indeed important, but many often approach her with a particular theological project in mind without often considering the person presented in the Bible. We know so little about her, and because outside of this one scene in the Gospel of John, she does not speak. Therefore, people often put words into her mouth. The theologian Martín Hugo Córdova Quero notes that Mary is often cast in binary roles within the classical, the so-called gnostic, and the modern interpretations of her. In the traditional western view of the Latin church, Mary is a prostitute who becomes a penitent saint who quietly waits at the feet of Jesus seeking lifelong absolution for her supposedly sinful career choice. In the so-called gnostic tradition, Mary is a woman who has to be defeminized to become a virtuous and masculine member of the spiritual community. And in the modern and twentieth century interpretation, Mary is no longer a sex worker but is now a proto-capitalist entrepreneur and businessperson who becomes a leader in the early church. These depictions are often held as mutually exclusive to one another, and some are considered more positive than others. Indeed, the modern interpretation is in many ways a liberating interpretation because Mary is an active agent and leader in the early church and in the early Jesus movement.

"Jesus appears to Mary" from Douglas Blanchard's
Passion of Christ: A Gay Vision series

Nevertheless, all of these depictions are often tied to the idea of what different communities (often the men in those communities) want Mary to be, and in turn they (again, usually men) can use Mary to be a guide for what they want women to be. However, many criticize these interpretations as being dehumanizing towards women and for not being properly concerned with the real life experiences women, particularly women in marginalized communities, encounter in their day-to-day lives. Even the modern interpretation is criticized by some contemporary theologians because it often implicitly excludes women who experience poverty, women and people whose gender and sexuality do not conform to societal norms, or women who work in stigmatized careers like sex work and treats them as not being worthy of acceptance in the Church and worthy of love from Christ.

Jesus however has a way of troubling those waters of normalcy that we desire in our lives by challenging the binaries that we impose on ourselves and others. Jesus makes the indecent decent and the decent indecent, and Jesus helps us to look beyond the roles we impose on ourselves and others to see the human being in front of us for who they truly are, someone beloved by God and someone who is vital to the sharing of God’s Kingdom as an active agent. This is why Jesus associated himself with the poor, the oppressed, and even with sex workers, because they are the ones who will inherit the Kingdom of God, and therefore they are the ones who share the Good News with the rest of us.

With Mary we can look beyond the binary roles that were established for us and for others to see what a true follower of Jesus looks like. Through Mary, we see the person who loved Jesus, who listened and accepted his teachings, who was there through the entirety of his passion and death, and then after his resurrection shared his message with the apostles and the world. In turn we see the Son of God who was also clearly close to Mary, who welcomed her into his closest ranks, and tasked her to be the herald of his resurrection. Here in the Gospel of John, we hear Mary speak for the one and only time in the New Testament, and it is here that she alone receives a personal Christophany or manifestation of the risen Christ from Jesus. The other apostles see the risen Christ, often in groups, but Mary alone receives this personal appearance. Mary has agency and makes requests of Jesus. Jesus responds with care and affection to the genuine human needs of Mary. It is in the close and interpersonal relationship between Christ and Mary that we see how the Kingdom of God is made manifest in our lives, through the love we share with one another. Therefore, in our personal love and close affection with Jesus, we are tasked like Mary to go out and tell the world of Christ’s resurrection irrespective of who we are or the roles society places and imposes on us.

In this way, we too become apostles to other apostles.

Amen

On the Edge of the New World: A Sermon on the Feast of the Ascension

Acts 1:1-11
Psalm 47
Ephesians 1:15-23
Luke 24:44-53

St. Thomas's Anglican Church
Toronto, ON

“And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven.”

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

It is tradition to extinguish the Paschal Candle
following the Gospel on the Feast of the Ascension

The Feast of the Ascension is one of the great Feasts of our Lord and one of the great mysteries of the Incarnation. Jesus is taken up into heaven and is removed from our sight, and yet through his ascension we are drawn closer than ever to him because his presence is now known to all the world. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is now enthroned in splendour on the right hand of God the Father. He returns from whence he came, and he is fully received into heaven as the Incarnate Word of God. His humanity is not subsumed by his divinity, nor is his divinity diminished by his humanity. His ascension changes everything, and yet so much remains the same. What does this all mean for us in 2020, and how can we begin to grasp this mystery in our lives?

Syriac icon of the Ascension

The sixth-century Syrian bishop Jacob of Serugh writes regarding the Ascension “in the Son of God, heaven and earth had joined each other; and in Him were pacified, both the human race and the angels.” In the Ascension, the timeless and unchanging heaven is united with the ephemeral and transient Earth, and the two are united now by Christ. When Christ returns to heaven, he returns with that human body that was formed in the Incarnation. That body is like our bodies. It carries with it the marks of time, every line from laughter and the joys of life, the aches and pains of middle age, and of course the scars and trauma of his crucifixion and resurrection.

Christ’s pains are revealed and glorified in heaven, and just as those pains were lifted into heaven, so too are our pains lifted up into heaven with him. There is no theosis, no union or restoration of our original divinely beheld image without the ascension. Christ shares in our humanity so we can share in his divinity, as Athanasius of Alexandria from the fourth century writes. Jesus’s wounds are known to God and remain present with him, and by those wounds our relationship with God is restored. There is no journey gone so far that we cannot stop and change direction, and Christ’s ministry including his ascension reveals this to us. We cannot go back to the beginning, but we can begin anew, looking back on what has brought us to this point, and looking ahead at what is to come.

And yet, now we remain, here on earth in a world that has indeed changed and yet remains all too familiar.

Image from CTV News

Slowly, our city and world is beginning to open up. Though the lockdown was severe and sudden, the release is slow and cautious with the possibility that further lockdowns may be in the future until a vaccine or other viable treatments for COVID-19 are found. Even as some aspects of life slowly return to normal, there is the recognition that we are exiting our homes into a new world. And we come into this world with the anticipation and fear of the unknown, and the knowledge that not all of us can safely exit our homes until a later date. We may feel like we are at the edge, staring into the unknown. When Jesus departed from the apostles, they gazed at the heavens in anticipation and wonder as they too stood at the edge of a new world. Jesus departs from their sight, but he does not abandon them, nor does he abandon us. He offers us the promise of peace and his blessing. Turning again to Jacob of Serugh, he writes that:

“Jesus had given peace so that they themselves might give it to the whole earth, and he would fill them with his peace, instead of himself. He encouraged them and promised them, ‘I am with you’ so that when he would be raised up from among them it would not sadden them. He is with them and behold, the name of the Father is with them and he will send the Spirit so as not to leave them behind as orphans. His peace is with them and the name of the Father was made the guard, and the advocate carried the riches for the discipleship.

As we stand on the edge of our new world, do not be afraid. Even though we are still in many ways isolated, we are not alone. Even though Christ has gone up into heaven, those burdens that we carry in our lives, the sorrows and the traumas of our present time, the sorrows and traumas of our present experience, are known to God and held dearly and lovingly by God. He will not abandon us. The Holy Spirit brings us ever closer into intimacy with Christ because the Spirit fills us with God’s blessing, peace, and love for us. Even in his departure, even in his seeming absence, do not be afraid, for Jesus tells us to “remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

Amen.

Faith Manages: A Homily for The First Sunday After Easter Day

Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

St. Thomas's Anglican Church
Toronto, ON

“Then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you.”

+In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Statues by Duane Linklater

A few days ago, I was riding my bike on the Don Valley trail. I noticed how empty the roads are and the overall silence that has fallen upon our city. There are pockets of activity as people go about their business but there is a certain echo of the life that once was. Many refer to this as the new normal. This new normal is often described in terms of absence. We go about our lives in some ways as if nothing has changed, but we see everywhere that nothing is the same. We try to maintain some semblance of a routine: we wake up, we shower, we eat, we watch or read the news, we try to do our work, we get distracted, we eat again, we try to go back to work, we give up, we go outside for a walk, we eat again, we do some other chore, and then go to bed. We repeat this daily as our new normal. Our lives are now circumscribed by our home’s walls and most of us do not venture outside except for those few errands that are absolutely necessary.

We gathered two weeks ago virtually to commemorate the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. During our Zoom coffee-hour last Wednesday, many in our community shared their appreciation for the elegant simplicity of our online Holy Week liturgies. We were still able to capture some of the solemnity, beauty, drama, and joys of Holy Week and Easter. Yet there was a certain melancholy as we could not encounter the usual sights, smells, sounds, touch, and taste of Holy Week. Many people walked away from the Easter Mass with a sense of joy that grows from the celebration of Christ’s Resurrection. But I felt in some ways that the joy of the Resurrection slipped away when I returned to my new normal routine on Easter Monday. I found myself asking, now what? How do we live into Eastertide in the duration of this, and as the quarantine continues on in the weeks to come?

In many respects, our Easter celebration this year has taken on new meaning. We are like the disciples, locked away and living in a state of isolation. Like them, we too have learned that Christ’s tomb is empty, and have learned of Mary Magdalen’s encounter with the risen Lord, and like them in this Gospel we find ourselves locked away. They hide themselves away, venturing outside only for those few errands that are absolutely necessary. However, Jesus breaks into the locked room, not through the door but through reality itself. He offers peace to the disciples and breathes the Holy Spirit upon them. Thomas, however, is not there when Jesus first appears, he is outside, perhaps running an absolutely necessary errand. He hears from the other apostles that Jesus appeared to them but does not believe. He says, “Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.” Later Thomas and the other the disciples are gathered again in the locked room. Jesus breaks in again presents his hands and his side for Thomas to touch. Thomas, upon realising Jesus is truly and physically there, and declares “My Lord and my God”. Jesus replies, “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

The Incredulity of St Thomas, Getty Museum

I could then easily tell you that what Jesus has to say “blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” will be sufficient to carry you through this period of isolation and quarantine as it carries on into Eastertide. But in some ways that is a cold comfort in this new normal. It may be easier to repeat what Jesus says, but to actually take those words into our hearts especially now, can be quite difficult. We ask ourselves how long this social distancing will continue, how long will I be isolated and locked behind my door? If only we could be like the apostles who had it so easy, Jesus could then break down that door break into my reality. Jesus could then cross into that 6-foot barrier of distance around myself and be close to me. If only he could present his hands and his side for me to touch. If only, like in so many artistic depictions of this scene, Jesus would grab my hand so that I could feel his hand, and feel his body, and know that there is another living and breathing person in front of me. Then I would have hope, then I would believe, and then I can be strengthened for whatever may come in the next few weeks. And yet, this is not the case, and so we go through another day of this new normal wondering where is God in all of this. Where is the resurrection when it feels we are still in the tomb?

Jesus’s resurrection is a promise and gift to humanity. What Jesus gives to his disciples and to us is not the gift of his physical body, but the promise and the gift of faith. It is more precious than any physical or worldly treasure. Faith is the promise that the past has meaning and will be fulfilled. It is the promise of a future restored and renewed better than the past ever way. And, though this may cliched, faith transforms the normal into the abnormal the ordinary into the extraordinary. The faith that the resurrected Christ offers to his apostles and to all of us is that where we are and all that surrounds us is indeed good because in his resurrection, he is still embodied clothed with the mundane aspects of creation just as we are. Jesus is resurrected and his body is glorified, but it is still his original body. He is still a human being; his divinity has not consumed or superseded his humanity. The body that he was incarnate in is still a good body and yet it also bears the wounds of its humanity. It is a promise that this world is still good, that this world is still loved and held closely by God even when we are surrounded by uncertainty, fear, or even monotony. It tells us that the normal we find ourselves in, whether it is an old normal, or a new normal, or a new-new normal, is still good enough for God, and God will always come into it and transform it. Christ breaks into our world and is present, even though we might not see or touch him, he is still there.

Evergreen Brick Works

In the Hebrew language, and indeed in many Semitic languages, the word for breath or wind, ruha, is also the word for spirit. Beginning in Genesis and throughout the entire Bible there is this linking between spirit, breath, and wind. Jesus in this story breathes the Holy Spirit on his disciples. I like to believe that the coming of the Holy Spirit here and on the Day of Pentecost was not a localized phenomenon of Christ’s breath on the disciples. Rather, God’s breath is shared and continues beyond this moment. God continually breaths upon creation as one would blow on a fire to bring forth new life, new heat, and new warmth from it. As I ride my bike alone in the Don Valley, I often feel the wind blowing up on me, pushing me forward or back. I see it rustling through the trees, I hear it as it moves up on the river, and it carries the sounds of life wherever it goes. Christ is still present in this world; he lives and moves among us. He does indeed crash into our lives and breathe upon us to give us life and vigour. He gives us the gift of faith, faith that our times and places have meaning, that he will never abandon us, and that the world we live in is still indeed good.

Faith manages. Faith will manage us through this normal the next new normal and whatever new normal lies out there because faith reminds us of God’s continual presence and renewal in the world. Jesus through his breath upon the world continues to work wonders and signs that are both readily apparent and sometimes hard to see. He is present in every routine day, every quiet walk, every moment with a bored and screaming child, every line-up outside the store, every meal given to the poor, every Zoom call (yes, even the ones that get Zoom-bombed), every hospital waiting room, and every day that lives are saved because we are staying home. Jesus moves in ways that we may see or not see, know or not know, but he is still present, breathing life into this world, even the very walls of our homes. “And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book:  But these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name.”

Amen.

"I am the light of the world": A Sermon for Laetare Sunday during the COVID-19 Pandemic

1 Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23

Ephesians 5:8-14

John 9:1-41

“As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

High altar from St. Ignatius Episcopal Church

The Fourth Sunday in Lent is often called Laetare Sunday. On this Sunday, the Lenten Fast is loosened briefly, the purple vestments are swapped for a lighter rose-coloured set, the music takes a brighter turn, and the first glimmers of Easter appear on the horizon as some churches place flowers on the alter for this one Sunday in Lent. It is intended to encourage the faithful in their course through the season of penance and fasting, to reassure them that there is a season to all things, and that on the other side of Lent and the Passion is the glory of Easter and the Resurrection. The name Laetare comes from the traditional Latin introit or entrance for the mass of the day, Lætare Jerusalem. The full introit comes from Isaiah 66 and Psalm 122:

Rejoice ye with Jerusalem, and be glad with her, all ye that love her: rejoice for joy with her, all ye that mourn for her:

That ye may suck, and be satisfied with the breasts of her consolations; that ye may milk out, and be delighted with the abundance of her glory.

I was glad when they said unto me, ‘We will go unto the house of the Lord.’

Right now, it is difficult to rejoice. We are in our homes practicing social distancing in an attempt to blunt the spread of COVID-19 and the flatten the curve of infection so as to not overwhelm our healthcare systems. Many of us are cut-off from our friends and family, only engaging in necessary contact for groceries and medicine. Schools are closed, businesses are shutdown, the economy is uncertain, and the future is unclear. It is as if the world has hit a pause button, and yet we still have to move to continue life in whatever shape we can.

The most painful part of this for many of us is that churches are closed, and liturgies are cancelled. We are cut-off from the Eucharist, the Body and Blood of Christ, one of the things many of us look to in order to sustain them through the Lenten Fast is now a part of the Lenten Fast.

We may be at this for some time. China has now only begun to relax their own measures of quarantine, social distancing, and isolation after two months of implementation. Yet part of the problem with COVID-19 is that it is a novel strain of a coronavirus, and though scientists have learned much about it, there is still so much that is unknown. We are groping around unable to see as if in a dark room, blinded by shadows. The fear is that the virus may come rushing back once the restrictions are loosened so some scientists believe we may have to go in and out of social distancing until a vaccine is produced and distributed which could be 18 months to 2 years from now. There is a silver lining in this, should we need to enact social distancing again, the duration will likely be shorter than the prior one, our healthcare system will become more adapt at meeting society’s needs when an outbreak comes, and new anti-viral treatments are showing positive results. Even the most clinical and lacking in bedside manner scientists say that there is an end to this though the road ahead may be long and what lies at the other side is unsure.

In our Gospel reading today Jesus heals the man born blind. This healing is quite unique compared to the other healings in John’s Gospels. When Jesus heals the royal official’s son in John 4 or the paralytic in John 5, he does so at a distance, or by his command. Here however, Jesus spits on the ground, makes a paste of saliva and mud, smears it on the eyes of the blind man, and tells him to wash in the public pool of Siloam. This is not very sanitary and goes against all medical practice! And yet its very tactile, physical, and earthy scene and its physicality highlights Jesus message, “I am the light of the world.” That light is not some philosophical concept, there is no intellectual ascent or hidden knowledge given by Jesus to transcend reality, no Jesus is the physical light sent into the world so that people can see, and by his light people can see and know God. Reality itself bends to his very presence, and the light that he shines scatters the darkness and reveals the truth plainly for all to see, as S. Paul says in his epistle to the Ephesians “all things that are reproved are made manifest by the light: for whatsoever doth make manifest is light.” Through Christ, salvation and hope is offered to all, and that radiance overwhelms any darkness and any secret in the world because “the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” And in that light, all the secrets we carry, the worries, the fears, the anxieties which blind us to the light and hope of Christ are revealed as the foolishness of our human nature. We can see ourselves as we truly are. And when we stare at our human nature while under that light as if in a mirror, we see how foolish we can be, and laughter is inevitable. And from that laughter comes wisdom and joy as a gift from God, and from that joy comes hope.

Jesus tell us “as long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” Though Jesus has ascended to the Father in Heaven, we believe that Jesus is still present physically in the world. We primarily acknowledge that Christ is present in the Body and Blood of the Eucharist, but now with many cut off from the Sacrament we are rediscovering how Christ is present in the Body of the Church. Though we do not gather in together in person, we can still pray together. Even if we are not in the same room, we can gather with our friends and loved ones to pray over Skype, Facetime, Zoom, or even the good old-fashioned telephone. Though we may not be in the same room, we are still gathered together and united in prayer because the Holy Spirit moves through us despite the distance. The Prayer of S. Chrysostom in the Daily Office of the Book of Common Prayer reminds us of Jesus’s promise “that when two or three are gathered together in thy Name thou wilt grant their requests.” Indeed, this may be a time to rediscover the poetry and prayers of Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer, and Compline, which lies at the bedrock of the Prayer Book tradition.

More importantly, we are united in the Body of Christ through our baptism. Our baptism knits us together in ways that transcend our imagination and it gives us the opportunity to be the Body of Christ wherever we are and in what we do. We allow the Light of Christ to shine through us and into the world and help us to see others as God sees us, loved, beloved, and cherished. Our baptism allows us to be Christ to others and allow others to see God through our actions. Brian P. Flanagan, a professor of theology at Marymount University in Arlington, Virginia, wrote recently in America Magazine:

Josh Edelson/AFP via Getty Images

“Jesus teaches us, ‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’ I have the privilege of being healthy and at low risk for complications from the virus. How can I use my time to support those in my community who are more biologically vulnerable? ... In this time in which we are not able to encounter Christ in the assembly or the Eucharist, we always have the opportunity to encounter Christ in the vulnerable, even in ways that protect ourselves and those we wish to help from further risk. A meal or groceries left on a doorstep [or given to the most vulnerable among us], a contribution to a fund for unemployed restaurant workers, a check-in with an isolated older person or a friend who has suddenly become a homeschooling parent—we can all do something, for someone, in this time.”

We can still serve one another and be like Christ to others in the world, even if it must be done so at a distance. Though our prayers, our words, and our deeds, the Light that is Christ will continue to shine in this world, illuminating even the deepest shadow that seems to be so ever present in these times. As S. Paul says in his epistle to the Romans, “I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” There is nothing that will ever truly separate us from one another, and us from God, not even a virus.

The next few weeks may be very difficult, and the future beyond that may be uncertain. Pray for a quick end to this pandemic, but in these times, do not lose hope. God will never abandon us, as Psalm 23 says,

The Lord is my shepherd; therefore can I lack nothing.

He shall feed me in a green pasture, and lead me forth beside the waters of comfort.

He shall restore my soul, and bring me forth in the paths of righteousness, for his Name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.

Though we cannot drink deeply of the Eucharistic cup, we can drink deeply of God’s love for us and that cup will sustain us in the midst of these times.

In the days to come I urge you to look after and take care of one another as best you can. Each day find something to be thankful for, something to pray for, and something to laugh over. If you are young and healthy and able to, find ways to reach out and serve the vulnerable because they are at even more risk than anyone else. In these acts we can find joy and laughter, and in that we find hope, and in that hope, Christ is known among us. As my mother told me on Friday, find Jesus in every moment.

I look forward to the day when I can say to you all in person, “We will go unto the house of the Lord,” and celebrate once again the Feast of Christ’s Body and Blood together as a community. May that day be a bright and joyous day filled with laughter where no shadows lie, and may that day come soon.

Amen.

Feel life as it is and know that God is there: A Homily for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-12
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

St. Thomas's Anglican Church
Toronto, ON

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

Pepperdine University, a private Christian university affiliated
with the Churches of Christ. Photo taken from usnews.com. 

When I was a younger man, I attended a conservative evangelical university in Southern California. [1] The school had a culture of Bible studies, student-led praise services, missionary-minded outreach, and testimonies. Though the evangelical practice of testimonials is meant to show and discuss how God is moving in a person’s life, people at this school often give their testimony to tell how God personally called them to salvation. Some people were quite good at telling a story, and their testimony resembled the hero’s journey of setting out, hitting a challenge, and in the abyss, they encounter God who personally calls them out of darkness into light and into a new life. I do not mean to discount people’s experience, often people find God and rely on God in the abyss. But these fantastic testimonies where they work hard and struggle to hear God’s call can put pressure on people who did not have such a fantastic journey to conform their life-story to this model. It was written on their face, and you could tell when people were uncomfortable doing this because they heard these stories and might ask themselves “am I truly called?”.

Our readings today are filled with language of God calling people to his service. Isaiah says, “The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother's womb he named me.” Psalm 40 says “He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay; he set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.” Paul tells the Corinthians “God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.” Simon is brought to Jesus, and Jesus says to him “‘You are to be called Cephas’ (which is translated Peter or Stone).” Isaiah, the Psalmist, and Paul say that God calls people. Jesus as God himself calls people to him. We believe that God calls each and every one of us to something, but how do we know God is calling us? What do we do when we encounter God’s absence?

The North American experience of Christianity is deeply tied to the question of God’s call. We inherited this from the various Reformed leaders and writers of early-modern Europe. Martin Luther constantly questioned whether or not he was good enough to merit salvation, but he reasoned that God’s call to us is independent of our own action. But it still begs the question, how do we know if we are called? John Calvin answers this question and said that God called those whom he will save to him before the beginning of time, and that our call is predestined. But how do you know if you were predestined? Later generations of Anglicans and Puritans in England said it would manifest in our diligence and dedication in our personal labour and personal morality. As a kind of reaction to this, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism said that he knew he was saved because he felt his heart being strangely warmed following his encounter with the Moravians after experiencing much failure in his early ministry in Georgia. Our society merged these all these contradictory things together and our culture tells people they have to work hard to hear God’s call and have any meaning in their lives. We have to pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps to hear God’s call.

But what if we don’t hear God’s call. What if we do all the right things, pray, read scripture, go to church, be diligent in work, and strived and suffered greatly to no avail? Some may find God in these things, but not everyone does. How many long nights of the soul have lead to no great revelation? How often have you laid awake in the dark, worried about how you are going to pay rent, worried about your sick child who cannot go to sleep, worried about what your purpose in life is, worried if this project is going to work, only to be met not by the heavens opening up before you, but by the silent indifference of your bedroom walls. As Isaiah says, “I have laboured in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”

Iao Needle on Maui

We may work hard to hear God’s call, and may hear it in isolation, but when God’s call does not come it can feel as if you are “standing atop the summit of a great mountain, the winds tearing about you, then finding yourself buried alive…trapped, helpless, and alone.” [2]

And yet, God does indeed calls to us, even if we cannot discern God’s voice. What is sometimes lost in trying to hear God’s call in isolation is the reality that God’s voice is not a reward at the end of a long journey to the top of that mountain, but the thing that drives us to the base of that mountain; to climb that mountain with one another, with our friends, family, and community; and to help others climb to the top of that mountain. God’s voice is often best discerned in relationship, community, and in service with others. Many people often do this even if they cannot discern the voice of God or are actively seeking it in their lives because it is simply the right thing to do. There is no great secret to God’s call because it has been revealed in Jesus Christ. Paul says that “in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind—just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you—so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ.” God’s call is therefore present, and we work to discern that call together with our community as we proclaim God’s “love and faithfulness from the great congregation” to the world. The voice of God is often best discerned in community and understood in the service of others. Wherever two or three are gathered, God himself is there.

When we discern God’s call, the heavens may not open up before us. We may not see the choirs of angels. But when you act in love and charity towards someone, when you show mercy and love to another person, particularly the most marginalized in our world, know that you are in the right place, at the right time, responding to God’s call to you, even if it does not seem readily apparent or be heard.

Easter Vigil, St. Thomas's Anglican Church

Life around us echoes with the voice of God, it is a melody that merges into a chorus of God’s song and we can hear it together with one another. We can hear God calling to us in the person on the street asking for spare change, the child who says come play with me, the joy of seeing a loved one, the cry of a victim begging for us to listen to them, the estranged friend who says I am sorry, the pull on your heart to forgive a great wrong, the noises of a child in baptism, the calm at the end of life, the words of Jesus in the Gospel heard in the midst of the congregation that calls you to have mercy on others. Feel life as it is and know that God is there.

Amen.

[1] Pepperdine University is a private Christian university affiliated with the Churches of Christ. Some may object to calling the Churches of Christ and Pepperdine evangelical and identify the Churches of Christ as a mainline denomination. Evangelical in this sense is not meant as a descriptor for a particular denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America calls itself evangelical but many ELCA churches do not conform or function like a typical evangelical church in the US. Evangelical is meant to describe a particular cultural and theological expression of Christianity, and that particular culture was the dominant one at Pepperdine.

[2] Quote taken from Kreia in Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic II.

Condemning Anti-Semitism: A Homily for the Epiphany

Isaiah 60:1-6
Psalm 72:1-7,10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12

St Christopher's Episcopal Church
Kailua, HI

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

There has been a major spike in incidents, crimes, and attacks motivated by anti-Semitism over the past few years. In the United States there were nearly two-thousand recorded anti-Semitic incidents in 2019 alone, and this is a major increase from the 700 recorded attacks in 2016. New York state saw nearly a dozen separate incidents over the course of Chanukah this year. Anti-Semitic crimes have also become more frequent all throughout the world as well. Even Hawaii is not wholly removed from this as a person suspected of vandalizing a Beverly Hills Synagogue was arrested in Kona on December 18. During the Feast of the Epiphany we as Christians should contemplate the meaning of the Gentile Nations paying homage to the God of Israel. As Isaiah says, “Nations shall come to God’s light, and kings to the brightness of his dawn.” We should meditate on the Christians origins from Judaism to better respond to anti-Semitism in our communities.

These past four years have seen an increase in violence against not only our Jewish neighbours. Incidents against black and brown communities have increased, incidents against migrants have increased, incidents against Muslims have increased, and incidents against LGBTQIA people have increased. It seems as if the world is becoming a more violent and dark place. The Church must not only condemn such violence, it must also be a vehicle of reconciliation between communities and a shield for the most vulnerable who face such violence. Presiding Bishop Michael Curry often has called for the Episcopal Church to be a place for people to walk in the path of love with one another.

In our response however we sometimes seek to collapse all forms of prejudicial violence into very simple language—all violence against marginal communities is wrong and needs to be condemned and there is little to no difference between the kinds of violence that different communities experience—hate it just hate. This is overly simplistic and sometimes blinds us to reality. Though all acts of violence are tragedies and require response, hate manifests itself in different ways and different forms for different communities. We must be cognizant of the particularities of the violence and how Christianity has influenced or created these different kinds of violence. Anti-Semitism is a unique problem for Christianity however because it is a virus that continues to mutate within the Church over the course of centuries and millennia and prevents us from fully engaging with and embracing our Jewish neighbours.

The history of Judaism and Christianity is a messy one. Jesus was an observant Jew who lived in Roman Judea and Galilee. Christianity is borne out of Judaism, but the when, where, and why Christianity and Judaism drifted apart is debated by scholars. In places like ancient Syria, Iraq, and Iran, Christian writers were complaining of Christians maintaining Jewish practices and customs as late as the 700s. Can we call these people Christian? Jewish? I do not know. Though Christianity was borne out of Judaism, both Judaism and Christianity continued to grow, change, and influence each other throughout history. The relationship is never a one-way street. The diverse Judaisms of today are different from the diverse Judaisms of antiquity, and yet there are threads of continuity across the millennia. The New Testament, and especially the Gospels, reflect the messiness of Christian origins within Judaism.

The Gospel of Matthew is the messiest of the Gospels in this regard, and the arrival of the Wise Men from the East is emblematic of that messiness. When the Gospel of Matthew was written in the late first and early second century, there was no Christianity. Such a distinction between Judaism and Christianity did not exist. The various Jewish communities in the ancient world were in disarray due to the Roman Empire destroying Jerusalem and its Temple of God in the year 70. Different factions and groups were left to pick up the pieces left by the loss of the Temple. One such faction were the communities of Jews who believed that Jesus was the promised Messiah for the Jewish people. The Gospel of Matthew was written to show how Jesus fulfills that role as a new Moses and a new David, Jesus is the prophet, priest, and king of the Jewish people.

The prophets, particularly Isaiah, are employed by the Jewish author to show how the coming of Jesus ushers in the messianic age for the Jewish people. The magi, magi being the Greek name for the Zoroastrian priests of ancient Iran, pay homage to the Messiah or Christ. They give him the gold of a king, the frankincense of a priest, and the myrrh of a prophet who will die for speaking the truth.However, just as this story highlights the Jewishness of Jesus, it is quick to condemn Jews who do not accept that Jesus is the Messiah. Herod and all of Jerusalem is frightened by the coming of the gentile magi to pay homage to the Messiah. It is Herod’s jealousy over Jesus’ claim to kingship over the Jewish nation that leads to his slaughtering of the children in Bethlehem which follows the arrival of the magi. However, such discordance between Jewish factions is not uncommon in Matthew.

The Gospel of Matthew contains a line that Christians have used to justify their violence against Jews throughout history. During Jesus trial in Matthew 27:25 “the people as a whole answered [regarding condemning Jesus], ‘His blood be on us and on our children!’”. Later generations of Christians believed their violence towards Jews was justified because of stories like that of Herod or the crucifixion—they accuse the Jews of being Christ-killers and say they deserve the violence as a form of human enacted divine retribution.

This is an extreme form of anti-Semitism, but it is congruent with many other kinds of anti-Semitism. It has emerged in many ways and at different times throughout history, but none of it has any place in the Church. However, it is the legacy we have inherited. We as the Gentile nations have been called to the God of Israel through Jesus Christ, but we must not forget that there are communities and people with whom God has formed a covenant with that has never been revoked. Our fore-bearers and ancestors have often deliberately overlooked the unique relationship Jews and Christians have with each other. Such ignorance has led to the horrors of the Inquisition, pogroms, and Holocaust. God will always deliver his people when they cry in distress, but the Church should not be the cause of that distress. Instead, we must cognizant of our common heritage with Judaism, learn how our traditions have grown, changed, and affected each other, and extend a hand of friendship and fellowship with our Jewish neighbors as one family of God.

Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has called on Christians to express their solidarity with the Jewish community tomorrow, January 6 in response to the rise in anti-Semitic attacks throughout the country. The bishops of the Diocese of Long Island wrote also that “We cannot stand silent before this fresh outbreak of anti-Jewish terror, We call on our fellow Episcopalians now to boost our own spiritual solidarity with our Jewish sisters and brothers. Anti-Semitism is a problem of special concern, not to be overlooked, to Episcopalians and all Christians. … Episcopalians should become a prayerful presence in the face of the fear and vulnerability created by these incidents threatening the Jewish community.

We as Christians are called to love our neighbors as ourselves. Our Baptismal Covenant commands us to “strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.” Just as we stand against all forms of violence and discrimination in the world, we must stand against violence against our Jewish neighbors. In a world which seems so keen on repeating the mistakes of the past. We can build a better world where God’s light can shine brightly.

Arise, shine; for your light has come,
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.
For darkness shall cover the earth,
and thick darkness the peoples;
but the Lord will arise upon you,
and his glory will appear over you.

Amen

The Word's Body: A Homily for the First Sunday after Christmas

Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Psalm 147:13-21
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18

St Christopher's Episcopal Church
Kailua, HI

+In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

The Sundays following Christmas are often the runts of the liturgical litter. After major mid-week liturgies for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the First Sunday after Christmas can be easily overlooked and missed by people. The Readings for the First Sunday after Christmas however help us to understand the events that we celebrate on December 24 and 25. Just as we should not be so quick to rush through Advent in our desire to celebrate Christmas, we should not rush through Christmas for the next thing (even if people are already setting off fireworks before New Year’s, and even if Longs and Target already are putting out Valentine’s Day stuff). We should take time and really look at our Christmas decorations and really listen to our Christmas hymns in order to contemplate and understand the mysteries that we celebrate every year, and the readings today help us to do so.

Baby Yoda nativity. Thanks, I hate it.

We are very quick to domesticate the story of Jesus’ birth. It is the most well-known story in the New Testament: Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem and Jesus in born in a manger because there is no room at the inn. Angels appear to shepherds to announce the birth of Jesus, and they leave their flocks to witness this event. We have many forms of media that retell this, we have pageants to re-enact it the story, and we have kitschy nativity sets that recreate the event. We can also swap out elements in the nativity sets to make it more humorous or precious including cat nativities, football nativities, sausage and cured meat nativities, and Star Wars nativities with little Baby Yodas as Jesus.

To be clear, pageants and other re=telling this story are not bad things in and of themselves (though the Baby Yoda nativity is a problem for a whole set of reasons). However, in domesticating the Nativity of Jesus, we lose track of the cosmic significance of this event—the Creator of the World, the Word of God, has entered into creation itself. He took on the physical elements of this world and became human. The Gospel of John tells us that the immaterial takes on the material, flesh, blood, bone, cells, and all the messy aspects of life. That very matter that Jesus takes on, our flesh and blood, become the very vehicle and garment of salvation, as Isaiah says, “he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness.” Jesus takes on a body and takes on everything that comes with having a body, including those aches and pains we all know and love.

Paul says that Jesus came into the world in fullness of time, and in so doing came to a place and time. Psalm 147, in the parts we did not read says, “God is not impressed by the might of a horse and has no pleasure in the strength of a man.” Not only did the Word come into creation, he came in a specific place and time in history and entered the world in the most helpless and vulnerable way possible as an infant. Just as the creator of the world held creation in his arms, now the creator is held by his creation in the arms of his mother, Mary. His body has to be fed, protected, and cared for, and will grow up in a world where life for 99% of humanity is short, cruel, and poor. God chooses to become poor, and he enters into the world as a marginalized and oppressed person.

Though he will grow-up as a carpenter’s child he still grew up as a poor Peregrinus, a non-citizen or foreigner under Roman Law. His home was conquered and occupied by the Roman Empire. Through the toil and sweat of their labour, the people of Galilee and Judea served the Roman Empire under the watchful eye of the Roman Peace or Pax Romana which extracted heavy taxes from the poor to maintain the occupation over the land. The law and order of Galilee and Judea was maintained by the Roman legions who could extract labour or violence from the populace with little to no consequence. The King of the Universe comes into the world as a slave to a world and society that will reject him.

Once again, Psalm 147 says that God “sends out his command to the earth,” and authors the laws that govern creation, but now enters into the world to live as a subject to the commands and laws of creation and humanity. And yet, in the course of Jesus’ life, he causes, as Isaiah says, “righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.” He feeds the poor, he heals the sick and injured, and raises the dead. Not for profit, not for political maneuverings, but because it is the right thing to do. The laws of physics bend to his command because what is good, and right cannot be stopped by human limitations around supply and demand or the laws of physics even. His very presence draws attention and power away from the rich, the powerful, and the elite. He makes to poor, the widow, the orphan, the oppressed, the sex workers, and the most marginalized the centre of a new creation.

He gives freely that which is restricted in his society, health and prosperity exist for the wealthy and powerful, and yet Jesus gives it and more to the poor. “The Lord lifts up the lowly but casts the wicked to the ground.”

The Word of God, who came into the world as a newborn infant will as an adult experience the worst violence and horrors that humanity can inflict on it through his passion, crucifixion, and death because he spoke out and acted against the cruel injustices of the world around him. He is executed for treason and sedition against the Roman state and died as a duly convicted criminal under Roman Law. But once again, in the fullness of time, in human history, Jesus is resurrected from the dead, and ascends into heaven with the very same body that he was born into. He carries the scars and traumas, the aches and pains, and the limitations of that body into Heaven in his ascension. The fullness of the human experience that played out on Earth are now in Heaven. Through Jesus’ body and experience, Heaven and Earth are linked together. All of this was done according to Paul “in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.”

Our bodies too also bear the marks and scars of our history and traumas. Our bodies may also have been sites of violence where someone has done evil upon us. But that physicality is the garment of salvation. Those who are the most marginalized, and those who have experienced the hardships of human existence are the “crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of God” because Jesus became poor and lived and served among the most marginalized. They are his people. The scars borne by the poor do not go away but are held dearly by God and those who carry those scars become God’s children through the grace of Jesus Christ and become heirs of God’s promises for creation.

All this comes from God entering the world as a human child in a particular place, in a particular time, in a particular socio-economic class, and in a particular way. Each Christmas pageant, conventional nativity set, and Christmas hymn proclaim the story of the infinite entering into the finite world. It is such a small thing, but so often the course of human history turns on the little things. The eyes of a child reflect the eternity of God because the eternity of God was a child, and the incarnation of Jesus as a human being brings hope that there will be vindication for the marginalized in this world.

Come and behold Him
Born the King of Angels!
O come, let us adore Him
O come, let us adore Him
O come, let us adore Him
Christ the Lord

Amen