Inspiration and Challenge (St. Alban's Day, June 22 2014)

Homily:  St. Alban's Day, June 22 2014, St. Albans

Readings:  Wisdom 3.1-9; Ps 34.1-8; Rom 6.1b-11; Mt 10.32-42

Happy St. Alban's Day!  It was in 1865 that the first rector of this parish, Thomas Bedford-Jones made the following announcement:

"A new church is to be built in the city of Ottawa. It is to be dedicated to St. Alban, the first Englishman martyred for Christ [in] A.D. 303. The estimated cost is £3,000, barely sufficient to provide a plain church with accommodation for 600 persons. It is to be a Free Church, ever open to Christian worshippers, and its ministers & services are to be wholly maintained (if possible) by weekly offerings of grateful hearts. It is to be a church in which daily prayer and praise shall ascend to the throne of grace and in which the reformed ritual of our ancient Anglican faith shall be conducted in full and strict accordance with sanctions of the Book of Common Prayer – nothing more but nothing less.”

Why do you think the Rev. Bedford-Jones would choose St. Alban as the saint to whom this building was to be dedicated?  Well, he was an English saint, and of course back in 1865, that was important!  But that wasn’t the only reason.  You heard me tell the story of St. Alban to the children at the beginning of our service today.  Alban was a soldier in one of the Roman legions stationed just north of London, who, though he was a pagan, gave shelter to a Christian priest who was fleeing persecution.  He took the priest into his home, and as a result of his conversations with the priest, Alban became a Christian and was baptized.

But the Roman authorities soon discovered where the priest was hiding and came to the house to seize him.  In order to allow the priest to escape, Alban put on the priest’s cloak and allowed himself to be taken captive in his place.  When the military governor discovered what had happened, he offered Alban the opportunity to recant his Christian faith and to offer the pagan sacrifices required by Roman law.  Alban refused and declared “I worship and adore the true and living God who created all things.”  And for that, he was condemned to death and beheaded, the first Christian martyr in England.

When I hear the story of St. Alban, I find it to be both an inspiration and a challenge.  The part about welcoming and sheltering the refugee, the one who is oppressed and terrified, I find that tremendously inspiring.  The part about dying as a martyr, I find that tremendously challenging.

Let’s start with the inspirational piece.  Clearly the founding rector of this parish, Thomas Bedford-Jones was also inspired by the welcoming attitude and action of St. Alban.  St. Albans Church was founded because of the influx of people to Ottawa as a result of Queen Victoria’s naming of this city as the capital of the new Dominion of Canada.  Those people included military personnel, civil servants, labourers and their families.  And Bedford-Jones envisioned a church where all were welcome, and rich and poor would be seated side-by-side in the pews.  That’s not the way it usually worked in Anglican churches in those days.  Pews were rented by wealthy folk, with the highest rents near the front, and poor people would stand at the back if there was room.  When Bedford-Jones declared that St. Albans would be ‘Free Church’, meaning there would be no renting of pews, it was a radical act and a break with tradition.  Many thought he was foolish, and were not surprised when the early parish of St. Albans, deprived of pew rents, was always strapped for cash.  But from its earliest days, all were welcome at St. Albans, and rich and poor, labourers and Prime Ministers all sat together.

I like to think that we are continuing with that welcoming tradition here at St. Albans today.  It is a privilege for us to work in partnership with Centre 454 in opening our doors and offering a place of welcome to all, including those who are homeless and faced with the challenges of poverty in our city.  Some people call this place their “living-room”, and I think that both St. Alban and Thomas Bedford-Jones would be pleased to hear that.

Jesus reminds his followers of the importance of hospitality in our gospel reading today.  “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”  Whenever we welcome someone into our midst, we are welcoming God into our midst.  It’s just that important. 

Welcoming is one of our core values as a community, one of the most important things we do.  And sometimes we do it really well.  I remember one Sunday morning, the service was just ending and I was walking down the aisle as the last verse of the last song was being sung, when I saw a man coming in through the main door of the church carrying a mattress.  This kind of puzzled me, so I went over to him, and asked him “Why are you bringing your mattress into church?”  He replied, “Because that nice lady over there told me to!”  I saw that he was pointing towards Carrol, but I was still a bit confused.  It turns out that he was in the process of moving, and he’d been walking past the church with his mattress.  When he’d heard us singing our last song, he’d come in to listen. Carrol had noticed, and so she'd gone to talk with him and she invited him to join us for refreshments after the service. But his mattress was still outside, and there was a risk of rain. So, Carrol had told him to bring in his mattress, and that's just what he was doing as I was walking down the aisle.  He stayed for refreshments, and Paul was back a few weeks later, and then he moved to Halifax.

Hospitality means welcoming people as they are.  Even if they’re carrying a mattress.  Even if they’re fleeing persecution in third century England.

That’s the inspirational piece of St. Alban’s story for me, the welcoming of the stranger.  The challenging piece is the death part.

You see, I suspect that if I had been St. Alban, when that Roman military governor had questioned me, I would probably have tried to wiggle my way out of it, claiming it had all been a misunderstanding, and offering those pagan sacrifices with my fingers crossed behind my back. 

St. Alban really took to heart those words of Jesus that we heard in today’s gospel:

“Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.”

I’m not sure whether in similar circumstances I could do the same.  You see, I’m afraid of death. 

Death is not something we talk about a lot.  But our scriptures do talk a lot about death.  In our same gospel reading Jesus says, “those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” 

Metaphorical?  Yes, sometimes, but for St. Alban those words were literally about dying. 

In our second reading from Romans, Paul is talking about baptism.  One of the things he writes is the following:  “Did you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”

That is one of the ways the church understands baptism.  And yet, if you recall a few weeks ago when Elise was baptized, I don’t think that I said very much if anything about her being baptized into Christ’s death.  I usually talk about baptism as new life, as being born as a child of God into God’s family.

It was almost a year ago today that our Sunday book club was finishing up the book Spiritual Formation by Henri Nouwen, which talks about the movements that we need to make as part of our spiritual growth.  The final chapter was called ‘From Denying to Befriending Death’.  In it Nouwen argues that we must move from fearing death to befriending death, but that to do so requires a radical trust and a radical hope which enables us to discover and reclaim the deeper spiritual truth of who we are:  children of God, who will never be separated from the love of God, not even by death.

And so as we enter our Open Space this morning, I offer you a choice for reflection and discussion this morning.

The first question is, what does it mean and what does it take for us to be welcoming community.

The second question is, what does it mean and what would it take for you to befriend death.

Inspiration and challenge.

Happy St. Alban's Day!

Amen.

Creator, Wisdom, Shekinah (Trinity Sunday June 15 2014)

Homily:  Yr A Trinity, June 15 2014, St. Albans

Readings:  Gen 1.1-2.4a, Ps 8; 2 Cor 13.11-13; Mt 28.16-20

Have you ever looked at the stars?  I mean really looked at the stars, from a place free of light pollution, where you can see them in all their splendor.  About five years ago, I was in Peru, hiking the Inca trail on the way to Macchu Picchu, and on the way we were camping high in the Andes mountains, nearly 4000m above sea level where the air is thin.  One night I woke up in the middle of the night, got out of the tent and looked up.  And I was amazed by the array of stars overhead, filling my vision, impossible to count, breathtaking in their beauty.  It was an awesome sight.  And on that occasion my words could easily have been the words of the psalmist that we read in Psalm 8 this morning:

“When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars that you have set in their courses, O Lord, how exalted is your name in all the world.”

This is one of the ways that we as humans experience God.  We experience God as Creator, and we are filled with awe and wonder.  The knowledge that we’ve accumulated through modern science only accentuates these emotions.  We know that our galaxy the Milky Way is so big that it takes light over 100,000 years to cross it, and yet the Milky Way is only one of billions of galaxies in our universe.  The God that we experience through creation is the Big God, the God beyond heaven and earth, the one that transcends us, the one that fills us with awe, and maybe even a bit of fear and trembling.

And out of this experience of God come the images of the divine that are perhaps some of the most familiar.  We picture God, as does the psalmist, as a big, powerful figure, as a king who lives above the clouds, or perhaps as some sort of superhero gazing down on earth from the sky.  “O Lord our governor, how exalted is your name in all the world!”

But our experience of the vastness of the universe also raises questions for us doesn’t it?  The immensity of the heavens and the picture of the big God who created them can make us feel rather small and insignificant.  Why would such a God care for us?  Or again in the words of the psalmist, “What is man that you should be mindful of him?  What is the human that you should seek them out?”

But for some strange reason, we do experience God as caring for us.  We do experience God as seeking us out.   Despite the vastness of creation, we do experience ourselves as significant within it.  We seem to be the only creatures in whom consciousness and a quest for meaning have emerged.  Out of the immensity of the universe it is in humanity that the universe becomes aware of itself and seeks a relationship with its creator.  And out of our yearning for relationship with God, which some might call our spirituality, we do, at least from time to time, get the sense that we are indeed in relationship with the divine, that we are loved by a force which transcends us and yet is near to us and all around us.

And this sense of the nearness of God, and the love of God for us moves us to imagine God in new ways, because the image of God as the big God, as the superhero in the sky just doesn’t cut it for people who have moved into this closer relationship with the divine.

In the scriptures of the Old Testament, we see how this process of re-imagining God worked for the Hebrew people.  They had their image of God as Creator that we envisioned today in our first reading, the God who said “Let there be light” and there was light.  This is the Almighty God who rules over the heavens and the earth, God as the exalted governor that the psalmist refers to in today’s psalm.

But new images also emerged out of the Hebrew people’s experience of the divine in their midst, surrounding them and upholding them.  One of these new images is captured by the Hebrew word “Shekinah”.  Shekinah refers to the presence of God.   It is the “holy, holy, holy” that we will sing about during our offertory.  It is the divine presence which dwells among and within her people, a presence which surrounds us and at times overwhelms us.  When Moses goes up the mountain to receive the ten commandments and is covered by a cloud, it is the Shekinah of God that surrounds him.  When Isaiah enters the temple and has a vision of God, it is the Shekinah, God’s presence that overwhelms him. 

Another image of God that emerges for the Hebrew people, another way of picturing the intimate relationship the Creator has with creation and with humanity is the image of God as Wisdom which we find in the Proverbs and in the Wisdom of Solomon.  In these writings, God is pictured not so much as the sovereign who gazes from above, but as the feminine figure of Wisdom who comes to us, seeking us out along the road, waiting for us at the crossroads and the city gates, calling out to all of us, seeking to enter into relationship with us.  In Wisdom, God doesn’t wait for us to come to her, she comes to us.  She is God’s agent in creation, dancing, rejoicing and taking delight in the human race.  What a wonderful image this is of a God who comes to be with us, rejoices with us, dances with us, and takes delight in us.  What a delightful contrast to some of the images that we have grown up with, images of God as a stern task-master, waggling his finger at us, telling us to behave.  In Wisdom, we have the image of a God who not only loves us but who also loves being with us.

Like us, the Hebrew people experienced God in a variety of different ways.  They experienced the awesome God, the big God, in the immensity of creation and the transcendence of worship.  They experienced God as the one who comes calling, who seeks us out, who dances with us and delights in her relationship with us. And they experienced the divine as a presence who cares for them, who draws near and surrounds them, who dwells within them.  

God as Creator, God as Wisdom, God as Shekinah.

Today is Trinity Sunday.  Unlike most Sundays, when we remember and celebrate events which have happened, events like Christmas and Easter and Pentecost, on Trinity Sunday, we celebrate an idea.  An idea about God.  The idea that God is one God in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  And to tell you the truth, when that idea is presented as the doctrine of the Trinity, there are many of us, myself included, who find that it is a bit complicated and perhaps a little obscure.

But I encourage you this morning to think of the Trinity in terms of your own experience of God.  Think of the times you have beheld the beauty of a sunset, or the peacefulness of a forest or the glory of worship, the times you have experienced the transcendence and wonder of the divine energy which is beyond our grasp and comprehension. This is your image of God the Father.

Remember the stories you’ve been told of the love and compassion and wisdom of Jesus of Nazareth, how he came to seek us out, how he sought out those who were rejected and marginalized by society, how he delighted in their presence, laughing and celebrating with them at table, and how his work and ministry continue in the people who carry on with his mission today.  This is your image of God the Son.

Notice the times that you’ve experienced the divine as a subtle presence, as comfort and inspiration and power from within, as one who comes alongside, as an invisible energy which surrounds you and upholds and strengthens you, as love which is poured into your heart and you in turn have to offer to others.  This is your image of God the Holy Spirit.

And become aware of the relationship between all three of these images or personas of God, of a lively relationship of love between equals which values and supports and upholds the other.  This is the essence of God the Trinity.

And if you’re sitting there saying to yourself that you have yet to experience or name or imagine God in these different ways, think of this as a wonderful opportunity that you have to take the relationship you do have with God and move and deepen it in new and exciting directions.

In the name of God, Creator, Wisdom and Shekinah; Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

Amen.

Swept Up by a Sudden Force (Pentecost, June 8 2014)

Homily:  Yr A Pentecost, June 8 2014, St Albans

Readings:  Acts 2:1-21; Ps 104:25-35,37; 1 Cor 12:3b-13; Jn 20:19-23

Have you ever been swept up by sudden force of great power?  A force so overwhelming it was like a roaring fire or the rush of a mighty wind?  Back in my university days, I used to work in the summer as a camp counsellor, at Camp Iawah near Westport, just south of here.  Some of you may know it.  One of the things I used to do at camp was teach canoeing, and because I was one of the older counsellors, I used to get the youngest campers in my canoe.  Well, one day I had three small children in my canoe for canoeing lessons, a four year old, a six year old and a seven year old.  There we were in the canoe, on the lake, and the children were trying to paddle.  As you can imagine, we weren’t going very fast, in fact I don’t think that we were really moving in any particular direction at all.  In fact, it was kind of relaxing, just floating there on the lake.

But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a huge gust of wind came up behind us, and it took our canoe and hurled us forward across the water until we were going so fast it seemed like we were flying!  The kids started screaming, my heart started pumping, and it was all I could do to try to brace the canoe with my paddle to keep us from tipping over.

Now it seemed like that gust of wind lasted a long time, although it was probably only a few seconds.  Our boat travelled farther in those few seconds than it had by the power of our own paddling during the previous ten minutes!  And during those few exhilarating seconds, I had a taste of what it’s like to be swept up by a sudden force of great power.  In those few seconds I was transformed from a relaxed child care provider to someone who was given the urgent task of preventing those children from drowning.

Exhilarating as it was, that gust of wind created a big problem in my life.  When it stopped, I heaved a big sigh of relief, and I all I wanted to do was just go back to shore, and have everything return to normal.

In our first reading in Acts, the disciples who are gathered in the upper room are probably wondering when their lives will return to normal.  Many of them, people like Peter and James and John, were fishermen.  They’d spent their whole lives on boats, getting up early to cast their nets, doing their work and then returning home to their families before starting all over again the next morning.  Then one day they’d encountered Jesus, and he’d called them, and for some reason they probably didn’t even understand themselves they’d followed him.  And it had been an exhilarating and challenging time for them.  He’d taught them, and they’d witnessed his deeds of healing and power.  He’d taken them to Jerusalem and they’d been there for his confrontation with the authorities, the confrontation that had led to Jesus death.  They’d wept and mourned and then been totally surprised by his resurrection and his appearances in their midst.  But now a few weeks later, those appearances had ended.  And emotionally exhausted by all that had happened, these Galilean fisherfolk are probably ready for life to return to normal.  They’re ready to return home to their families, to get in their boats and go fishing.

Then, suddenly from heaven there comes a sound like the rush of a violent wind and it fills the entire house where they are sitting.  Divided tongues, like fire, appear among them and they are filled with the Holy Spirit and they’re swept out of the house and begin to speak in languages they don’t understand, proclaiming God’s deeds of power.  And all who heard them were amazed and perplexed.

Sometimes, returning to normal is not an option.

There are times in my life that I wish that the Spirit of God would come upon me as a gentle breeze, comforting me, helping me to return to normal, solving my problems.

Sometimes that happens.  But the story of Pentecost tells me that the Spirit of God is more likely to come upon us as the rush of a violent wind, propelling us forward at breakneck speed, calling and sending us into a new and perhaps unsettling reality.  The Holy Spirit doesn’t come to solve problems in our lives.  She creates problems.  She sends us out into a new reality.  And when that happens the return to normal just isn’t an option.

Just ask Peter.  That’s what Peter experienced on that first Pentecost.  He just wanted to go home to Galilee, but instead he found himself running out into the streets of Jerusalem and facing off against a perplexed and hostile crowd, defending himself against charges of drunkenness and proclaiming the same message of the kingdom of God that got Jesus nailed to a cross.  The coming of the Holy Spirit created a lot of problems in Peter’s life.  He found himself swept up by a sudden force of great power, and there was no going back.  He was no longer Peter, the fisherman from Galilee.  He was Peter, the apostle, the one sent by Jesus and empowered by the Spirit to proclaim God’s kingdom.

That does seem, at least on the surface, to be a bit of a foolish gamble on God’s part.  God gives the job of proclaiming and building up his kingdom to the disciples, to people like us. Zack talked about that last week.  “You will be my witnesses, not just to Israel, but to the ends of the earth,” Jesus told the disciples.  It seemed like an impossible, overwhelming challenge.  You can imagine Peter’s objections.  “To the ends of the earth?  I wouldn’t know where to go or how to get there.  And besides, I don’t even speak the language.”  But the Spirit has a way of sweeping aside our objections and obstacles.  On the day of Pentecost, Peter found himself doing just what he had thought impossible, proclaiming the good news of God’s kingdom to people from the ends of the earth, to each in their own language.

This is Peter’s story, and the story of the first apostles.  But it is also our story, a story that is unfolding in each one of our lives, because the coming of the Holy Spirit has been promised to each one of us.  Just as he asked the disciples, Jesus is asking each of us to pray for the Holy Spirit to come into our lives.  And when that happens we too may be swept up by a sudden force of overwhelming power.  It will be a turning point in our life journeys which will be just as profound, just as shocking as it was for the earliest followers of Jesus.  It may look different for each one of us.  It may be sudden or it may be gradual.  It may be obvious or it may be subtle.  It may be a rushing wind or a word of peace.  The Spirit moves in mysterious ways, in many different ways.  Not all of us are called to be apostles as Peter was.  Paul reminds us in our second reading that the gifts of the Spirit are given in wonderful variety.  But the promise of the Spirit has been made to all.

Are you ready to be swept up by a sudden force of overwhelming power?  May you have the courage to pray for the presence and the power of the Holy Spirit in your life.

Amen.