Reflections of a Canadian Churchman

Lex Orandi Lex Credendi - The Rule of Prayer is the Rule of Belief

2012-01-24T10:39:00.002-05:00

During ourLenten series last year, we explored our liturgies of confession and absolutionas a way of understanding God’s grace in the midst of human brokenness. We recognized that each of the prayers ofconfession and pronouncements of absolution found in the Book of Common Prayer and Bookof Alternative Services offer slightly different nuances as to how weunderstand our human frailty, brokenness and sinfulness, and slightly differentexpressions of God’s forgiving, healing and restoring grace. One of the points discussed in our timetogether is that Anglican theology has typically been expressed in the sharedprayers of the church, in “common prayer,” as it were. Common prayer is not simply the name of atime-honoured prayer book, but an evolving tradition of praying together,across time and space. We pray the prayers of our fathers and mothers who havegone before us, and in doing so join with them in worship and praise. At thesame time, though, new prayers emerge from the depths of our shared stories andexperiences in the present day. Ourprayers become a part of the tradition. If we listen carefully to the words ofprayer found in our tradition, words that are frequently grounded in HolyScripture, we hear the story of God’s encounter with humanity come alive tous. When we pray these prayers, we areswept into that sacred story. We becomea part of the story and it becomes a part of us.

During theHong Kong Continuing Indaba Encounter, many of us were struck by the words ofthe confession that was being used in the Church of Hong Kong. It was exactly the same as the words we prayin the Canadian modern Eucharistic liturgy, with the exception of the linesthat have been bolded:

Mostmerciful God,

we confessthat we have sinned

against youin thought, word and deed,

by what wehave done, and by what we have leftundone.

We have notloved you with our whole heart;

we have notloved our neighbours as ourselves.

We are trulysorry and we humbly repent.

For the sakeof your Son Jesus Christ have mercy on us,

Forgive what we have been,

Amend what we are,

And direct what we shall be,

That we maydelight in you will, and walk in your ways,

to the gloryof you Name. Amen. (The Holy Eucharist, Rite Two, Hong Kong Sheng Kung Hui)

We attemptto pray our prayer of confession each week intentionally and thoughtfully. The words are a part of us and many of us canpray them without the book. When a textbecomes a part of us in such a way it is a gift. It is a resource upon which we can draw intimes of need. We have the words to callout to God when we have done something wrong, even when we do not have a prayerbook in front of us. And yet, words likethese, as dear as they are to us, can become stale at times. We long for the spirit to wake us from ourslumber. I think that for many of usfrom the Canadian team, we were awoken that first day in Hong Kong when thesewords broke the pattern to which we were so accustomed. At first, it was slightly frustrating – theprayer we knew and loved so well was interrupted. Quickly, though we realizedit was a divine interruption, an interruption that proclaimed, “Sleeper wake!Rise from the dead and Christ will shine on you!” These few additional words jarred us andthen opened us to new possibilities, new hope, new grace: “Forgive what we havebeen, amend what we are and direct what we shall be,” are words that invited usinto the story of grace in a new and meaningful way. They are entirely consistent with what webelieve, and yet, their sense of newness helped us to prayer an old familiarprayer in a fresh and thoughtful way. Asthe week unfolded, many of us worked this additional line into our theology ofconfession and absolution, our theology of sin and grace, and into our theologyof hope. We believe as we pray and prayas we believe.

c. 2012, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

What a Mighty Love Was Thine... A Message for Christmas, 2011

2011-12-24T16:00:00.000-05:00

See Amid the Winter’s Snow…

See amid the winter’s snow,

Born for us on Earth below,

See, the tender lamb appears,

Promised from eternal years!

One of myfavourite Christmas Carols is See Amidthe Winter’s Snow. Although it was voted one of England’s favourite carols(at least according to the BBC website) many do not seem to be familiar withit. It is a great Victorian carol withwords from Edward Caswall (1814-1878), set to the tune “Humility” by John Goss(1800-1880). Caswell is also known for several other favourite Victorian hymns,perhaps the best known being When MorningGilds the Skies, and Earth Has Many aNoble City. Goss is known forcomposing the tune to the perennial favourite, Praise My Soul, the King of Heaven.

The carol SeeAmid the Winter’s Snow, is one of those carols that captures the deeptheological mystery of Christmas, that profound and moving reality of God withus. The first two lines of the secondverse makes this proclamation, at once majestic and humbling:

Lo, within a manger lies,

He who built the starry skies …

The God whocreated the heavens and the earth is found in the lowliest of estates, lying ina cattle trough. The one the universecannot contain allows himself to be contained in the womb of Mary his mother. The one who knew neither time nor spaceenters into time and sleeps on bed of straw. The one whose majesty is beyond compare condescends to make himselfknown in the most humble of conditions, a child in poverty. The one who is beyond human comprehensionbecomes the one who can be cradled by loving human arms. The mystery of Christmas is that the God whois above and beyond all, chooses to be a part of our small world and a part ofour lives.

Sacred infant, all divine

What a mighty love was thine,

Thus to come from highest bliss,

Down to such a world as this?

As we lookabout the world around us, it may seem at times that it is not worth saving,that things have gone from bad to worse and that it is beyond repair andrestoration. But through the eyes ofGod, it is worth it, we are worth it. The world and all its people are worthsaving and are of immeasurable value to God. Yes, the creator of the universe cares for this world and loves all its people,so much so that from highest bliss, he comes to us as a little child. What a mighty love was thine.

Thus, asChristmas comes one again, we extol that mighty love with our hymns and carolsof praise and humble gratitude. We singour carols to give thanks, we sing them to remind ourselves of the love of Godpoured out for us, and we sing them to offer a word of hope to the world andthose around us that the loving God is forever reaching out to us in the sacredinfant of Bethlehem.

Hail, Thou ever blessed morn!

Hail, redemption’s happy dawn!

Sing through all Jerusalem:

Christ is born in Bethlehem!

The Choir of St. Paul's Cathedral, London

I and Thou, and Indaba

2011-07-07T10:11:00.003-04:00

Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.

Earlier this month, members of the the Diocese of Toronto (along with members of the Diocese of Jamaica and the Cayman Islands, and members of the Province Hong Kong) had the privilege to be part of a pilot project in the Anglican Communion called Continuing Indaba. Continuing Indaba is part of an ongoing listening project in the Anglican Communion in which we seek to journey together in unity amidst the issues that threaten to divide us. There are many things that divide us as Anglicans, not least of which are issues concerning human sexuality, but beneath the surface and the presenting issues that ignite conflict are deeper differences, many cultural, some linked to our varied and differing experiences of colonialism, and others linked to the shape of Christianity and Churchmanship we inherited and which endure in our post-colonial contexts.

When relationships break down, it is easy to caricature the other, and to deride the opinions and positions held by the other when they are so different from own. This is especially true when a vast geographical distance separates us as well. But the question was asked, what if we were to meet face to face? What if we were to welcome one another into each others’ homes, parishes and communities, and into each others’ lives? What would be the gifts that we would share and receive? What if we were to become vulnerable to each other, to become like children to one another, and to practice welcoming hospitality to one another, in spite of our differences?

And so we met for eight days. Part of that time was in the setting of the Convent of the Sisters of St. John the Divine, and another part was in local parishes, in local communities. I have been asked what the entire experience was like. I have half-jokingly responded that it was a bit like being in group therapy for eight days. It was hard emotional work, but fruit of the labour was wonderful. It was more than a week of group therapy, though; it was a time to journey honestly and authentically through the challenging questions we face and ask seriously the question, is there a future to this relationship? To our great surprise, we realized that we had only barely begun the work of relationship; and as the bud of that relationship began to open, we knew the joy of sisterhood and brotherhood. Our time together was punctuated by moments of depth, both painful depth and joyful depth.

Following our time together, I began to think about, and to read the work of the great Jewish philosopher and theologian, Martin Buber. The seeds to explore Buber were planted last fall in the visit of a former teacher. We had not seen each other in over twenty years, although we had had some recent wonderful correspondence. When we met we simply embraced each other, a few tears fell, and he quoted Martin Buber, “All real living is meeting.”

All real living is meeting.These words come from Buber’s beautiful little book, I and Thou. In that work Buber suggests that we cannot conceive of ourselves, except in relationship to the other. This is done in two ways. There is either the pairing of I with it/he/she; or there is the pairing of I with Thou (or you). In the world of I-he/she/it, we seek to control the world, shape it, and understand it. We are the subject, and everything else is object. The object, the he/she/it of the other is to studied, classified, explained, understood, theorized about. We are detached from the other, set apart from it, distinct from it. “I” is over “here” observing the “he/she/it” which is over “there.” This, according to Buber is the realm of experience. We seek to understand the other by learning about it, or him or her.

But the realm of I-Thou (I-You), Buber claims, is the realm of relationship. It is the place where hearts meet; it is the place where we see in each other the “I” of subjectivity; where we behold rather than experience; where we are indeed drawn into the life of the other, and where we realize that there is no “I” without “You.” It is the realm in which we are not longer objects to each other, no longer he/she/its to each other, but “Thou,” but “You”, and hence beloved. We encounter one another, and with the other, behold the eternal “Thou” and are drawn into the great “I-Thou” world of our creator. This is not the objective world of experience, but the realm of encounter, the realm of relationship, in which our shared subjectivity is woven together in a divine tapestry, where our individual steps move in concert with the other in a divine dance.

For me, the struggle of Indaba was the toggling between the realms of experience and relationship. At least part of our mandate seemed to be to offer an experience of the Canadian Church (and alternately an experience of Jamaican and Chinese responses to this experience), and an experience of how each of us do things (in particular, theology, sexual ethics, youth ministry, and social justice & engagement) in our own contexts; to experience how we understand and engage our mission and ministry in unique ways. It seemed to me, though, that the harder we tried to demonstrate who we were, the more difficult understanding became. We manufactured a program to give people from far and wide an experience of us, and yet it seemed like they still didn’t get us, and we still didn’t get them. Customs and traditions and ways of doing things seemed even more baffling and troubling.

However, at the heart of Indaba, and dare I say, at the heart of the Christian life, is another way of being, a way that moves beyond and more deeply than the way of experience, and that is the way of encounter, the way of relationship. This is the “I-Thou” relationship of which Buber speaks. The genius of Indaba was not so much that we learned about each other and experienced each others’ worlds, but rather that we encountered each other, that through living and being together for a time, even through bafflement, we grew in relationship with one another. Through encountering each other, beholding each other as beloved children of God, and hence the beloved of our beloved, we became no longer objects to be understood by each other, no longer he/she/it, but I and You, I-Thou. We encounter one another and behold within each other the eternal I and the eternal Thou, in a dance of reciprocity and mutual subjectivity. In our Indaba encounter, it was surprising how quickly, through the grace of the abiding presence and promise of the Holy Spirit in the Church, we moved from I-he/she/it, to I-Thou, and the interesting thing is that an unexpected gift began to emerge, namely, some very small seeds of understanding.

Buber concedes that the I-Thou moments of life are fleeting moments, but they are moments that inform and transform the everyday world of I-he/she/it that we inhabit most of our waking hours. Relationship shapes experience, not the other way around. Understanding does not come primarily through an experience of learning about each other, through objectivity, but through a relationship with another, through an encounter, when heart meets heart, when I meets Thou, when we realize that there truly is no “I” without “Thou” and that I and Thou are one.

This is the truth behind the saying of Jesus, “whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me.” In the faithfulness of welcoming each other, not as he/she/its, but as Thou, as another I who beholds me as Thou, we welcome another, Christ our God, who takes us beyond the surface layers of our lives and into the deeper places of encounter and relationship. When we plunge into this authenticity, through the risk of hospitality and welcoming, we are given the greatest gift of all, namely, through relationships formed with new friends, the friendship of Christ our God.

c. 2011, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Back Pew

2011-06-30T14:59:00.005-04:00

Anglicans love the back pew. I suppose an interesting social history might be written on the subject putting forward all sorts of reasons that the front pews remain empty while the back pews are always occupied. I have heard several reasons put forward over the years, the most interesting being the suggestion that occupation of the back pew dates back to the days of pew rents. The pews and boxes in the middle of the church were the “property” of those who paid for them, while benches along the walls, at the back and in the gallery were open to those who could not afford to pay the pew rent. I have no idea if this is true or not and I can’t even remember where I heard it. I once asked my English grandmother why no one ever sat in the front pew of a church. She told me that it was kept free just in case the Queen showed up. Again, I don’t know if there’s a kernel of truth in that somewhere, but as a child I certainly believed it. It does seem to be in concord with the concept that those of a certain socio-economic class and social status get the best seats in the house, while those less fortunate should be satisfied with what is left over. Fortunately, in the eschatological scheme of things, “the last shall be first.” It’s just too bad that the church has had such a hard time hearing its own Gospel. I have been in churches with side aisles pews where it was painfully obvious that a greater number of visible minorities occupied those seats.

Even if the Anglican attachment to the back pew had its origins in pew rents, I don’t think that there is anyone alive in the Canadian Church today that would remember pew rents. Thus it is unlikely that those who sit in the back pews today do so because of the historic influence of pew rents. It is more likely that those who warm the back pews of the church do so out of a desire to remain slightly anonymous, slightly at a safe distance, participating fully, but with caution. Even long-time churchgoers seem to like to sit as close to the back as possible. Perhaps it is akin to the student who sits at the very back of the classroom with collar up, sunglasses on and the peak of the ball-cap turned downward, exuding the attitude, “teach me if you dare.”

My father, who is a retired Hydro executive, once told me of some sort of industry meeting that he attended at which the late Archbishop of Toronto, Lewis Garnsworthy, was keynote speaker. Lewis Toronto is reported to have extended his index finger, gazed across the expanse of the room, and uttered in his own inimitable style, “Don’t think you people at the back intimidate me; I’m an Anglican bishop!”

Whatever the origins of the back pew phenomenon, the back pew continues to hold an allure for Anglicans. Even if we place a sign midway through the nave inviting people to sit ahead of the sign (as was the summer custom in my home church), the pleading will be ignored and at least one or two faithful will fly the Anglican flag high from the back pew.

At a recent clergy event in the Diocese of Toronto (at a church that shall remain anonymous to protect the guilty), along with my good friend Fr. Jason Prisley, I was looking for a place to sit. We jokingly said that we should try out the back pew and see what all the fuss was about. We headed to the back of the modern nave and Fr. Jason began to laugh, “Dan,” he exclaimed, “you have to get a picture of this! This is the classic Anglican back pew!” He was right. A quick glance revealed the startling find that although the building was only about ten years old, the back pew was well worn! The contrast with the pristine penultimate pew is quite amusing (see accompanying photo).

Lest we be too hard on those who keep the back pew warm, let us remember that they are not the only ones guilty of claiming a particular ownership over their ecclesiastical seating. Those in the chancel have their special places: the bishop’s throne, the rector’s stall, the choir pews. Is it any wonder that the laity wish to stake their claim? In one parish in which I was a student, I was told of an elderly man who had carved his initials into a certain pew as a boy and he sat in that same pew all his days. A clergy spouse I knew always sat next to a pillar no matter which church she was in. One could ponder the psychology of that piece of seating strategy for some time. We are all familiar with the stories of those who have been told, “You’re sitting in my pew.” Perhaps some readers will have been accused of this when visiting another church. I know of a bishop’s spouse who had this happen in a church in this diocese. Ouch.

So, to be fair, not all Anglicans have a need to sit at the back. There are some (few) who do enjoy sitting up front, and as a preacher, I do appreciate the opportunity to make visual contact with people in the congregation without the aid of opera glasses. It seems, though, that we do like to carve out our particular favourite spots in Church. We all have niches in ministry, and perhaps the little niches we carve out in the nave (and chancel) in some way reflect that. Maybe, when we get too concerned about where people are sitting in the church, we should for a moment consider the alternative: the empty pew. Perhaps we should simply be grateful that God’s Holy Spirit has drawn folk into the Church at all, no matter where they choose to sit.

c. 2011, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Canadian Churchman's Round-up, #1 - A Compendium of Thoughtful Anglican Blogs

2011-06-20T20:07:00.005-04:00

The Anglican blogosphere seems to be dominated by a group of stridently conservative bloggers whose voices tend to be overpowering. As you will all know, your friendly neighbourhood Canadian Churchman eschews association with any particular “church party.” I am pleased to be in conversation with church-folk of all types and read blogs that are intelligent and fair. I am not interested in close-mindedness or in highly polemical blogs. I do read the latter, from time-to-time, as an exercise in understanding, but I will not promote or commend them. There are, however, some very excellent, broadly-minded, Anglican writers out there in internet-land. Your Canadian Churchman feels that it is worth highlighting their work, and as such, I hope to offer this “round-up” feature on a semi-regular basis to commend their work to readers of this blog, with the view to building a community of bloggers who speak from the centre. I would be happy to learn of new blogs that are worth sharing.

This past Sunday was Trinity Sunday, a Sunday that is reputedly feared by preachers, but several of the Churchman’s online friends have posted very thoughtful homilies. For example, The Vicar of Wakefield tackled the subject head on in a reflection on the Nicene Creed. In as sermon entitled “On Belief, Doubt, and the Nicene Creed,” he has written, “I think of the creed as the skeletal structure of our faith. We each have bones and frames that look more or less the same, but the way we flesh them out, the way we bring them to life, is different for each of us.” For the Vicar, the Creed is both inclusive and yet, in its brevity, permissive. To recite the Creed rather than asking parishioners to sign on to complicated confessional statements or subscribe to hundred page catechisms is a truly Anglican way of growing into our faith.

Over at Refractions, in a post entitled, “From Entitlements to Practices,” the Rev. Dr. Michael Thompson took his lead from our Lord’s Divine Commission offered at the end of St. Matthew’s Gospel to make disciples through baptism in the name of the Trinity. He ponders the tension between discipleship and membership, reminding us that while membership is touted as something having privileges, for Christians “membership comes with a covenant, a purpose.” He goes on to articulate that purpose as expressed in the baptismal covenant.

Fr. Michael Marsh, at Interrupting the Silence, has written about “The Choreography of Love,” as a way of understanding the Trinity. Fr. Marsh stands in awe of the doctrine of the Trinity, and when speaking about the Trinity, much like speaking about love, he recognizes that words often fail us and lead us astray when we try to articulate what both the doctrine of the Trinity and what love mean to us. He helpfully offers up the language and analogy of relationship as a way into understanding the Triune life.

The Rev. Dr. Richard Leggett at Liturgy Pacific does not seem to have posted a Trinity homily, but has a fine homily for Pentecost entitled, “Would that All God’s People were Prophets,” in which he reflects on the vocation of a prophet: “For us the prophets do not foretell the future; they ‘forth tell’ God’s word to God’s people in particular times and particular places.” Given the “epic fail” of a recent rapture-predicting American preacher, his words serve as a solid reminder as to what a prophet is called to do and of our shared vocation to prophecy as inheritors of the Holy Spirit at the first Pentecost.

Fr. Tay Moss, long-time blogger and everyone’s favourite Ninja Priest, has posted some intriguing thoughts of “the Church-as-folding” after reflecting on a piece of origami. He brilliantly suggests an approach that can take us beyond what he delightfully dubs, “the confetti of postmodernism.”

The Rev. Maggie Dawn’s Pentecost reflection considers the word “inspiration” and views it as a gift to western culture, art and literature, descended from that first Pentecost. She also offers some thoughts on what that means to her as an author.

Rudolf Bultmann famously asserted that the three-tiered universal is an impossible article of faith in the age of the wireless. This is why the Ascension can be such a difficult subject to preach on. In a homily entitled, “Where is he Going?”Dr. Andrew McGowan, over at Andrew’s Version, offers some cogent and helpful thoughts on what the Ascension means, both in terms of the absence and abiding presence of Jesus, with the assistance of a classic text from St. Theresa of Avila.

On another note completely, Laurel Massé at Voice of the Swan has written thoughtfully in her post, “The City that Never Sleeps,” about ministry in the city and has shared a friend’s wonderful prayer for the life and work that goes on in New York City.

This should give you just a sampling of some of the many thoughtful homilies and reflections that Anglicans are posting these days. The Canadian Churchman hopes that you will visit these sites regularly, make comments on them, and commend them to others. Look for further installments of “The Canadian Churchman’s Round-up” in the not-too-distant future.

Fr. Dan

God Endures Unchanging On - A Reflection for the 160th Anniversary of Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford

2011-06-19T08:54:00.003-04:00

One hundred and sixty years is something to celebrate; but let us never forget who it is that we proclaim in our shared life, and in whose ministry we rejoice today. Let us give thanks and praise to Christ our God.

Often, I take a moment to study the faces of the past rectors of Trinity Church, so wonderfully displayed in the Upper Room (our Narthex). I feel deeply humbled to follow in the footsteps of such faithful clerics. Many of these are remembered fondly by our current generation, but as my gaze wanders back across our 160 years of history, I soon realize that many of my predecessors are but names and faces, and a few of them just names. The contours of their ministry are no longer within the landscape of our gaze. They served, and they served faithfully, and their faithfulness is now known only to God. I wonder what challenges they faced in their ministries. I wonder what joys they knew and what tragedies they ministered through. Perhaps it does not matter; what matters is that their faithfulness has served to bring us to this day.

More important than the faithfulness of any priest, though, is the faithfulness of God’s people who make up the local church. I can now look upon another wonderful display of photos and clippings, prepared especially for this celebration, and see faces that have lived and faithfully served in this community. Some of them I know while others are fondly remembered by our senior parishioners. There are many faces that do not grace the display and are remembered only to God. How humbling it is for us to know that we are but one generation in a long line of faithful Christians in this place who have served the living God. Consider for a moment how the faithfulness of our mothers and fathers has served to bring us to this day.

More important than the faithfulness of priests or people, though, is the faithfulness of God in Christ. What makes the church more than just a society of people and clergy is the love that binds us together in Christ. What make us more than a family is the faithfulness of the one who gave us life, redeems that life, and empowers us to live into the divine likeness. The most important thing, and may we never lose sight of this truth, is the faithfulness of the God. The faithfulness of God is what has brought us to this point and what will move us forward. In another hundred years when our successors take a long gaze backward and wonder who we were and ponder our faithfulness, be it ever so fragile, they will be sure of one thing, that we served, and that they serve a faithful God who shall never leave nor forsake.

The words of a favourite hymn comes to mind:

“…Frail as summer’s flower we flourish, blows the wind and it is gone, but while mortals rise and perish, God endures unchanging on.”

So let us “praise the high eternal one” for his unending and unchanging faithfulness, for his faithfulness shown in and through our mothers and fathers in this parish, for our frail faithfulness, and for his faithfulness yet to be expressed in generations yet to be.

A happy 160th anniversary to you all.

Fr. Dan Graves

Thou Hatest Nothing Thou Hast Made -- A Reflection for Ash Wednesday, 2011

2011-03-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou has made, and dost forgive the sins of all those who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting ours sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

-The Collect for Ash Wednesday

God hates nothing that he has made. This is perhaps the most difficult truth we profess as Christian people. There are times in our lives when it is hard to believe that God loves us. We find ourselves to be broken, and yes, even as the old collect says, wretched. Oh, the times that I have wept at being unequal to the task that has been set before me and the mistakes that I have made along the way. If we are honest with ourselves, we will all be able to readily identify moments in which we have failed miserably at something we so confidently undertook. No one wishes a job to end in termination. No one plans on a marriage ending. No one sets out to fail a course or drop out of school. We take up tasks with the best and noblest of intentions, with every hope and belief that we shall see them through to completion. However, it is a reality of life that we shall all fail at one time or another. Sometimes we are not the only one to blame, but more often than not, we have played our part. What shall we do with the guilt and shame we carry over the mistakes we have made?

From time-to-time individuals will appear in my office or drop by the church. I may know them, or sometimes they are complete strangers. The thing they have in common, though, is that they are carrying a burden. The burden they invariably carry is the burden of a wrong, a mistake, or some unfinished business that has weighed heavily on their hearts. Often, words to this effect are spoken: “How can God love me? How can God forgive me after what I have done?” I think that most of us have felt this way at least once or twice in our lives.

God does love us though, even when we are at our worst and even when we fail in the most destructive ways possible. The question really is, “can I forgive myself?” Often we cannot forgive ourselves for the pain of the mistake is too great. Because we cannot forgive ourselves, we cannot believe that God could forgive us. Fortunately, though, our God is a God who forgives us and who loves us through every deep valley that we travel. As Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, “God makes the sun rise and set on the evil person as well as the good person.” Sometimes we are that evil person, and yet God has a heart big enough to embrace us, even when our hearts are broken into pieces. God has a will strong enough to set us upon the paths of righteousness even when our will has drawn us from the path of life.

Thus, when people come to me -- and I venture to say when anyone who is weighed down with regret over things done and left undone comes to any of us as Christian people -- it is our sacred task to proclaim the truth of the Gospel, that God loves them, for he hates nothing (and no one) he has made. Every one of us is precious in his sight. Every one of us, broken as we may be, is worthy of being put back together, every one of us has a place around his table and chair at his warm and loving hearth. Perhaps the greatest Lenten discipline of all might be not to give up something precious, but to share something precious, namely, this word of hope, this word of God’s love, to those who journey without hope and have no sense of his love.

c. 2011, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Arise, Shine - A Reflection for Candlemas 2011

2011-02-02T10:57:00.005-05:00

The lections through Epiphanytide radiate with themes of light. As we are gradually drawing away from the longest night, it may seem as though we remain in an unending season of longest nights, for even days filled with sunlight are fleeting. But the days are getting longer, even if this reality is not always perceptible, and the light is returning. While we move forward, slowly, through this dark time, the Scriptures continue to sing out about the light that comes into the world, the light that enlightens our darkness; both the darkness around us, and the darkness within us.

We move forward into a time of year that is difficult for many. There are many who make the pilgrimage south and abroad, not only to escape the cold, but to seek warmth and light. I am convinced that “seasonal affective disorder” is no imagined malady, but truly the result of living in a climate in which we are deeply deprived of light at this time of year. We desperately need to know the light is returning. We desperately need to hear from the lips of a trusted friend that darkness will not cover the face of the Earth forever. We need to know that a day will come when we will feel the warmth of the rising sun once again on our faces.

The darkness of the days and the length of the nights may make our personal moments of darkness seem all the more impenetrable. During this season we have felt some loss in our community through the deaths of dear friends. Many will be on personal journeys through illness, unemployment, and trying times of various sorts. Oh, that the light would come!

Yet, we continue to celebrate that light, even when it seems so fleeting. We continue to bask in its rays, even when the clouds clear for just a moment. We continue to read the words of our sacred story about the light, the true light, our Saviour, even though as the annual joyous celebration of his coming slips at once quietly into our past and distantly into our future.

Then appears a day on our horizon: it is not the end of the night, but let us call it the early morning watch. February 2nd is known to most as “groundhog day” – will he or will he not see his shadow? Shall winter end soon, or shall it continue for six more weeks? Christian people celebrate this day for another reason, though, and we call it The Presentation of the Lord in the Temple, or Candlemas. Like its secular sister, it falls at the midway point of the duration of Winter, but unlike its secular sister, Groundhog Day, which is filled with ambiguity about the return of the light, on Candlemas we proclaim boldly, once again, that the light has not been put out; that the light shines in the darkness; and that the darkness never has, and never will, overcome it. The spring shall come! The sun shall rise! Light breaks forth! Alleluia!

In the springtime, the Easter reality that we proclaim, that Jesus is Risen, is reinforced in the lengthening of days, the return of the light, and the return to life of the earth. But here at mid-winter, at Candlemas, we have no such signs, only faith and hope. Thus, in such a faith and with certain hope we gather to bless and light candles and proclaim our hope in the light of the world, in an Eastertide that is but a distant vision, but we do so without ambiguity but basked in the Light that never goes out.

c. 2011, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

God is not Dead nor doth he Sleep - A Reflection for Christmas, 2010

2010-12-24T15:00:00.001-05:00

In 1861, the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, following the tragic death of his wife and the outbreak of the American Civil War wrote a poem entitled “Christmas Bells,” which has come down to us as the carol, “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” It tells of a man who hears the bells ringing Christmas morning, but the tragedy of his life has made him deaf to the Good News and glad tidings they proclaim:

“Then in despair I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on Earth,’ I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth good will to men.”

For many, these words will resonate. For each of us there will be moments and events, both in our personal lives and in the world at large, that seem to rob us of our hope, and rob us of our joy. For many, a loss that occurred around Christmas time makes this season all the more difficult.

Yet, the remarkable Good News that rings out into the brokenness of our world and the brokenness of our dreams is the news of a God that willfully chooses to be with us when hope seems lost and joy forsaken. It is the news of a God who seeks us out, and allowing the pains of this life to take their course, offers a gentle hand, stretched out in love. It is the news of a God who, having journeyed with us through the changes and chances of life, brings new life and light to our hearts in the person of Christ Jesus. In Christ Jesus, hope returns and joy is rekindled.
That transforming power rings out in the final verse of Longfellow’s poem,

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to men.”

Truly, God is not dead, nor doth he sleep. The bells peal out for us this Christmas seasons with Good News and glad tidings of great joy. They chime a sound that recalls us to the reality of a Christ that is born into our midst, who not only journeys with us, but recreates us that we might indeed make the angel song of “Peace on Earth, good will to all people” our song, too.

May the Holy Child of Bethlehem bring you joy and peace this Christmastide.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Reflections on the Journey Part II - Photographer's Choice and a Proprietor named Al

2010-12-10T11:24:00.012-05:00

I never knew or cared much about photography, but one of the most interesting and stimulating places I have ever known was a tiny little camera store named Photographer’s Choice. Names can be misleading because the store really should have been called “Al’s Choice.” Al was the name of the proprietor of this gem of a place. He was born in Kentucky and came to Canada during the Viet Nam war. He had an interest in and talent for photography. At some point he opened up his own little camera shop in Richmond Hill, and what a store it was! Photofinishing and cameras were really just a front – a front for the most eclectic and amazing intellectual and cultural centre in town. For me, it was the place of my intellectual and cultural coming-of-age.

Photographer’s choice was the name on the sign, but Al had business cards also made up that touted the store as the “Richmond Hill University Off-Campus Bookstore.” Now, it must be understood that there was, indeed, no Richmond Hill University. Therefore, there was no campus which would house an “on-campus” bookstore, with whom Al’s store was ostensibly in competition! However, the name said something of the ethos that Al was trying to evoke – counter cultural, or more properly, sub-cultural. The rules and guidelines that shaped what was sold were Al’s own, and reflective not only of his own interests, but I think, of his own intellectual and cultural journey. Thus, amongst the many dusty academic volumes and other historical classics (I remember complete sets of Churchill’s Histories), there were shelves and shelves of pocket books – Science Fiction, Westerns, and Mysteries. There were some types of popular literature that were strictly off-limits, though: “We don’t do Harlequins,” I remember Al once saying very sternly. I also remember him telling me that true Science Fiction readers detest the term “Sci-Fi” and prefer “SF”, as an abbreviation of the more acceptable “Speculative Fiction.” It was a tiny place, but there was always something that would capture the imagination.

Al could generally find anything that you wanted. There was a basement that was “off-limits” to customers. If you asked about a book that couldn’t be found on the store shelves, Al would refer to an old-fashioned card catalogue in metal box that was buried under piles of papers on the front counter and finger his way through it. This catalogue was the skeleton key to the mysteries of the mysterious basement. I was a pretty big Sherlock Holmes fan back in the mid-eighties and I was just starting to read about Conan Doyle’s influences and his imitators. I had heard about stories of a detective named “Raffles.” I asked Al about it. He rubbed his moustache, pulled out the card catalogue, found a card and said in his best Kentucky voice (which I’m sure he enjoyed playing up), “Mister Juuustice Raaaffles?” A smile came across my face, and I exclaimed, “That’s it!” delighted at the discovery. Giving me a funny little half smile, he descend into what I imagined must have been a catacombs. After what seemed like quite an eternity, he returned with a little hardback red coloured volume, about 80 years old, and said, “Is this it?” It was. I’m sure I paid him about $1.75 or $2.00 for it and went away happy. I must confess though, that I began to read it and lost interest after the first couple of pages. Having devoured all of Holmes, I was looking for a new seven percent solution, and Mr. Justice Raffles was not destined to become the new drug of choice.

It was probably a few weeks later that I returned to the store. Al asked me what I thought of Raffles and I told him I couldn’t really get into it. “What you should be reading,” he said, “Is Nero Wolfe.” He explained to me that Nero Wolfe was the perfect cross between the English drawing room detective story and the hard-boiled American private eye thrillers. Wolfe was a 300 pound Montenegrin private investigator that never left his office on business. When he was not tending his orchids on the third floor of his New York brownstone, he used his superior intellect to solve mysteries behind from behind his desk. His leg-man, the competent Archie Goodwin, did all his investigative work and provided the American P.I. angle. Goodwin told the stories from his perspective, in the tradition of Dr. Watson. Al gave me a Nero Wolfe novel to read but warned me, that I would not be able to stop reading Wolfe novels if ever I started. Like all good drugs, the first one was free. But for some reason, I was not able to get into it either. I never told Al, because he had been so generous in giving me the book, no charge. I think at fourteen or fifteen years old, I was just too narrow-minded and found it difficult branch out and try something new. Thankfully, Al did not give up on me, and I will say that to this day that he and his store were crucial in opening my mind to new intellectual and cultural delights, of both the “high-brow” and “popular” sorts. I think I first became a listener of CBC radio in his store.

Al was also interested in comic books. In addition to photofinishing, cameras, photography accessories, and used books of all sorts and conditions, he also sold comic books. Indeed, he had another set of business cards that read, “Comic Collectors’ Choice.” Like many gangly unpopular, non-athletic kids of my era, I was an avid comic book reader and collector. Batman was my comic of choice. Al was very tolerant of my devotion to the caped crusader, but sought to educate me in the finer contributions to the canon of sequential art. “Have you ever heard of the Spirit?” He asked once asked me, in effort broaden my horizons in the field of panelogogy. Of course I hadn’t, because my only daring moves in comic book land was to occasionally perform the heretical act of betraying my DC masters by buying the occasional Marvel Comic book the featured the Amazing Spiderman. “Let me show you the Spirit,” he said, once again preparing me as a catechumen about to be inaugurated into a sacred mystery. He prowled around under that ever-present mass of papers on the counter – it always amazed me that whatever Al needed was close at hand under those papers – and drew forth a vintage “Spirit Section.” He explained to me that Will Eisner, the writer and artist, drew a short comic book every week (with the help of his studio assistants) that would be inserted in Sunday papers all across America during the 1940’s, these were known to seasoned panelogogists as “Spirit Sections.” He explained that Eisner was trying to break out of the superhero mode and tell human interest stories. He was an early innovator in graphic storytelling, combining words and images on the page with different shaped panels and panel action creating a pacing and timing that created and affective response in the reader. He also introduced me to the “graphic novel,” a literary art form more-or-less created by Eisner in the 1970’s with the publication of his graphic novel, “A Contract with God,” where Eisner began to explore the human condition more deeply in lengthy narratives and interrelated short-stories about New York city life. Eisner’s work was mind-blowing. My love affair with Eisner continues to this day (indeed, in our last house, I our spare bedroom was called “the Eisner Room” as it was decorated with several framed Eisner prints). I introduced his work to my wife Athena and she has used his stories in her English classes. What I learned from Eisner (and so many of the other writers of popular fiction to whom he introduced me) was that the various media of popular culture, including the comic book, could be the means for exploring and communicating serious themes and ideas about our shared human condition.

Around 1986, Al offered me a job in his store. Ostensibly, he needed someone to help him expand his comic book business, and at the wizened age of 16, I suppose I provided that. Of course, I jumped at the chance. What it provided me though, was my first real adult friendship outside the relationships of family and teachers. Al was a mentor of sorts, but more importantly, he was a friend. He was the same age as my parents, but had lived a very different life. He came here during Viet Nam, and he had experienced the culture of the sixties and seventies in a way my parents had not. He had a love of both high literature and popular culture that allowed us to connect in a way I could connect with so few other people, especially adults. Al had the gift of always meeting me where I was, and then leading me along the road into new and wonderful literary and cultural places. It wasn’t enough to stay with Sherlock Holmes, one must graduate to Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe; one should read not only Batman but also Eisner’s Spirit, and explore the hidden world of Dennis Kitchen’s underground comix. This simple transitions are metaphors for the deep sort of growth and transitions a young person must take in their coming of age.

Al’s store was also a place of meeting people and it attracted a group of eclectic and eccentric people. In a future installment I will speak about a man named Woody, who introduced me to Joseph Campbell’s works one day in Al’s store.

Stores like Al’s are a lot of fun, but rarely an economic success. But I suppose in the grand scheme of things, that’s the point, and a word we so desperately need to hear today in our world in which public sphere of the polis has been replaced by the idol of the economy. I learned that economic success is not the most important thing. I know the important role that Al played in my life and the opportunity that his store provided for creating community and nurturing relationships amongst those who sought just a little bit more than the rest of the world was willing to offer. Culture is created in such places and it is a non-pretentious culture that says no to the banality homogeneity and enforced paradigms of success. Such places are places of intellectual and spiritual odyssey, and indeed places where a young person can come of intellectual and cultural age in the beauty of an eclectic landscape. Places like this come and go, and I am glad that I found mine. And glad that I found Al.

I think it was around 1989 or 1990 that the store closed. I was off to university by then. Al and his family moved down to southwestern Ontario and we lost touch for many years. Photographer’s Choice disappeared, replaced for a time by an upscale ladies’ consignment store and latterly a jewellery store. I regularly visit Photographer’s Choice in my dreams. Sometimes the dream involves realizing that the store never really went away and Al is still there behind the counter, ready to introduce me to some new book or thought that will forever change my intellectual world. Sometimes the dream involves Al returning and setting the store up again, and inviting me to be his partner. If our dreams reveal to us our unfinished business, I think these dreams are about the unfinished business of being formed as human beings. We are forever “works in progress”, especially with respect to our inner landscapes. These dreams remind me that I will never be finished being formed until the Good Lord brings me to completion. When I dream of that special place from days gone by I am reminded that the work of inner growth and maturity is ongoing.

Five or six years ago, when I began spending a lot of time in my car, I decided to begin listening to books on tape. At a visit to the local public library I found a talking book CD of the Nero Wolfe novel, “The League of Frightened Men,” read by Michael Prichard. I borrowed it and began listening. Al was right, if ever I started, I would be hooked. And so I was. As I began to undertake a life of ministry, I realized how important it was to have moments of pure escapism but escapism need not consist of mindlessness. I have learned that Nero Wolfe mysteries provide a world of characters and intellectual stimulation that joyfully fill my moments of distraction. I rushed home and looked for that old Nero Wolfe novel that Al gave me in 1984. As I never discard anything I knew that I would find it after some exploration – nothing. Somehow, over the years and a couple of moves, it had inexplicably vanished without a trace. To seek out old copies I have frequented many wonderful used book shops and now own (and have read) most of the Nero Wolfe books; but as wonderful as those shops are, none of them are Photographer’s Choice, and none of the proprietors are my friend, Al.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

For the Prologue to this series, click here.
For Part I of this series, click here.

Reflections on the Journey Part I - A Chorister Named Ron

2010-12-03T14:16:00.002-05:00

Note: For the Prologue to this series, click here.

I have always strenuously resisted identification with any particular form of churchmanship or association with any particular church “party.” I tend to stay away from such self-identifying terms as “high church” or “low church”; “Anglo-catholic” or “Evangelical”; “conservative” or “liberal.” This is not to say that I don’t have particular leanings in the direction of some of the above labels, but in the spirit of the great nineteenth century theologian, F.D. Maurice, I have never felt inclined towards aligning myself with any particular “brand” of Anglican churchmanship. I believe that Anglicanism draws together the beauty of these various strands, not creating a dull homogeny, but a rich tapestry. To devote so much of oneself to one strand is to miss the beauty of the whole. As such, I prefer the simple designation “churchman” for that is who I am, neither “high” nor “low,” nor any of the above assortment of colours. Rather, I like to think that I have the strands of each woven into the fabric of my Christian identity.

I was introduced to one of those strands, the Anglo-catholic strand, by a chorister named Ron. As a young man in my early twenties, upon returning home to the parish church I knew as a child (St. Mary’s, Richmond Hill), I was invited to join the choir. This invitation came about because I had sung in a high school choir with the son of a St. Mary’s parishioner. After about a month of being back at St. Mary’s, this parishioner recommended me to the choirmaster who invited me to join. I suppose I was ill-equipped to sing as one of two tenors in a church choir as I had little technical knowledge of church music and only an average voice.

I attended my first rehearsal, was assigned my cubby-hole for keeping my music, a folder, a cassock and surplice, a number (#21, as I recall), and placed next to an older English gentleman named Ron. I’m not sure how old he was, but he was a retired high school art teacher, and thus probably in his late sixties or early seventies. I was one of the youngest members of the choir. The only ones that were younger than me were the priest’s son, who sang bass, and a girl who sang soprano. They were both in their teens. With the exception of them, everyone in Church seemed old to me in those days. At that first rehearsal, I took my place next to Ron, and began to sing, not knowing what I was doing and scarcely hitting a proper note. I’m sure that first rehearsal must have been painful for those around me, but over the years Ron taught me how to sing church music. I still treasure a copy of “Carols for Choirs I” that he passed on to me in my early days in the choir.

Ron had been a chorister since a boy in England. He had always sung in church choirs and he knew every tenor line of every hymn by heart. It was easy to learn to sing sitting next to Ron, all I had to do was listen. If I was a bit flat, sometimes he would gently say “up.” Occasionally, he would ask the organist to play a measure or two again even though he knew it well, just to help me along. To this day, when I struggle to capture the tenor line of a particular hymn, I close my eyes and listen for his voice.

I learned something else from Ron, though, and that was the glories of the Anglo-Catholic Tradition. Anglo-Catholicism is a certain brand of churchmanship that treasures the beauty of the liturgy, holds a “high” view of the sacraments, and a deep appreciation and connection with the historic traditions of the Church. Ron was deeply steeped in Anglo-Catholic piety. The Anglo-Catholic sensual nature of Anglo-Catholic liturgy is very attractive to artists, and Ron was an artist. His piety was of a deeply humble, sort though. He was not the sort of pretentious high churchman that is so often the subject of parody and caricature; rather, he was a quiet and joyful man with a wonderful smile, and engaging laugh, and playful spirit. Most importantly, though, appreciated the beauty of holiness and sought to incorporate it into his own spiritual landscape.

From Ron, I learned the externals of Anglo-Catholic devotion: when to kneel and stand, how to genuflect and when to bow, when to cross oneself in the liturgy, and a profound devotion upon the sacrament of our Lord’s body and blood in the Holy Eucharist. He did not so much as instruct me with words but with the gentleness of his actions and personal liturgical piety. From time-to-time I would ask him why he did certain things, and his answers were usually short but helpful. For example, one Sunday I turned to him and asked him why we did not say “Alleluia” after before and after the fraction sentence (the “Alleluia” is printed in brackets). He whispered back “It’s not a festival.” And it made perfect sense. Festivals were a time for Alleluias.

I suppose in the several years that we sang together, I never really knew Ron that well on a personal level. I knew that his first wife had died of cancer and that he remarried. I had met his second wife and his two sons on several occasions as they attend only on festivals (and shared in the Alleluias). I know that he taught art. Before he died he painted a picture of the Blessed Virgin and gave it to the church anonymously. I always knew it was his work though, as the initials R.S.P. at the bottom betrayed his anonymity. Along with my “Carols for Choirs” I also treasure a copy of an Anglo-Catholic missal that he gave me during one rehearsal.

I never became an ardent Anglo-Catholic, but thanks to a chorister named Ron, certain aspects of the piety of that tradition are woven inseparably into my own spiritual landscape. And thanks to Ron, who now sings in the company of the saints in an incense-filled hall in heaven, I know well the sacred songs of our tradition.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Reflections on the Journey: A Prologue

2010-11-24T17:13:00.001-05:00

Every few years or so, usually when I move, I find an old photocopied document entitled “Reflections on the Journey.” It is about ten pages long, stapled at the top left corner and now has a water stain on the front cover from resting on the top of a shelf underneath an air conditioning line that was prone to freeze up and then melt. It was produced in 1992 by the people of my home parish, St. Mary’s Anglican Church in Richmond Hill, as part of their Lenten journey in that year. Parishioners were invited to write and share reflections on how God had moved in their lives.

I have kept this little document since then and whenever it pops up I peruse it for a few moments, reading over some of the selections. These moments are usually filled with the requisite nostalgia as I see the names of many who have meant and continue to mean much to me on my own faith journey. The nostalgia deepens when I think of those who are now in heaven. The sentimentality of the nostalgia gives way, however, to a profound sense of gratefulness and thanksgiving when I begin to read the substance of those reflections. Some of the stories are quite simple, while others are deeply personal. All of them, though, bear witness to a profound reality, which is the presence of God in the life of the people of God. While the collection contains the thoughts of priests and theology students, it also contains the reflections of a broad selection of the whole people of God. Some of these people were deeply involved in the life of the parish when I was a young man, and while some of them articulately expressed their faith quite regularly, there are others for whom this must have been an exercise in vulnerability. It can be very difficult to talk about our faith, not because it is not important to us, but because it is very important to us. Our faith journey is at once about the most interior part of our lives and the same time about how we relate to the world. It shapes our identity personally and politically (I mean the latter in the true sense of our participation in the “polis” or society). I think that most of us are afraid that if we stumble in articulating our faith journey, not only do we feel that we have “let down the side”, but that maybe something core to our being has been unmasked as a fraud. Often, we have an inner confidence based on some experience of the divine, and yet we are afraid that if we articulate that experience, someone will assault it, and as a result assault us at our deepest level. Thus, many Christians buy into the modern notion that our religion should be a private thing and not for public consumption.

What occurs to me, though, as I re-read that old St. Mary’s booklet, is how much my faith journey is strengthened by hearing the stories of the faith journeys of other Christians, especially those who were people that were formative in my life as a young man. I don’t look upon these people as somehow crazy or deranged (as I am sure many of them felt they would be taken as the put pen to paper to share their stories), rather I am heartened and my own faith is enlivened. I think this is probably the reason why Christianity is a religion that revels in telling the stories of saints. The lives of our spiritual mothers and fathers are a testimony that we are not alone, much less victims of some sort of mass delusion, as we walk this pilgrimage of faith. And of course, although it might not seem the case as we read the stories of the great saints, all saints are flawed people. Indeed, most saints really are ordinary people. It is the presence of God in their lives, and in ours, which makes us all extraordinary.

The courage of those men and women in 1992 to share a small piece of their faith journey continues to resonate and inspire. Their risk of vulnerability has become to us a gift. As a priest, I am asked from time-to-time by outsiders the question that so few people in the church ever ask. “How did you know you wanted to be a priest?” Or, “When did you ‘get the call?’” I am sure other clergy have heard these questions. These are honest questions posed by people who are asking us to be vulnerable with our story. And even for a priest that is hard. It is hard because most of us never had that ‘lightning bolt’ moment. More importantly, it is hard because it is difficult for us to be vulnerable with our stories, too. The larger question for me, though, has always been less about being called to be a priest and more about sensing and believing in the presence of God in Christ in my life. Perhaps there are some stories there to share; stories that involve people in my life carrying the light of Christ, that illumined my path at key moments along my journey. To that end, in future posts I will endeavour to stir up the courage to share some of those moments, in the way that those courageous St. Mary’s parishioners did those many years ago, in the hope that it will begin a process of storytelling for all of us that holds before us the reality of God in our midst. I would love to hear your stories, too.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

On Obedience - Can an Outdated Metaphor Still Hold Meaning?

2010-11-10T22:17:00.002-05:00

The opportunity to preach at the Holy Eucharist at the Convent of the Sisters of St. John the Divine this past Tuesday gave me the chance to reflect on whether two difficult passages of Scripture that use slavery as a metaphor for obedience (Titus 2:1-14, Luke 17:7-10) can still hold meaning for us today. What follows is that reflection.

“Tell slaves to be submissive to their masters and to give satisfaction in every respect.”
-Titus 2:9

“We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!”
-Luke 17:10

It needs be said at the outset that both the passages from Titus and Luke offer words about slavery that rightly disturb our modern ears. In most cases, our lectionaries skillfully excise such passages that might tempt us to justify slavery on account of the biblical text. Yet, somehow today, a simple Tuesday in ordinary time, two of these passages creep in and beg our attention. Perhaps this is a good thing as it reminds us that there are difficult passages of Scripture with which we must wrestle, lest we fall into the error of holding to a “canon within a canon” of Scripture. Thus, we must ask ourselves what we might learn from such texts that grate against our notions of justice, equality and human rights.

It should thus be said that the use of the metaphor of slavery is, of course, time sensitive. The metaphor, as it was used in the days of Jesus and St. Paul, is not a metaphor that appeals to us any longer; yet, as with any metaphor it is not the sign, but the thing signified by the sign that is intended as the focus of our attention. The thing signified in this case, is the virtue of obedience. The use of the slave metaphor is only a tool, or a means, to set before us the matter of obedience. We might substitute the metaphor, or indeed, even rewrite the parable in Luke in terms of employee and employer, or soldier and officer, or perhaps even parent and child, or perhaps even members of religious orders and their superiors, or priests and their bishops, to understand the meaning of these texts in our contemporary context. Obedience remains very much an important aspect of our existence. We seem to live under the illusion today that in our egalitarian and democratic society we do not have legitimate hierarchies of obedience, but they abound, and can be found without too difficult a glance.

It seems to me, then, that the word being proclaimed to us today is that we should not necessarily eschew relations of obedience simply because they make our egalitarian sensibilities a bit queasy. Let us be aware that relationships of obedience often arise out of competencies. For example, I am perfectly willing to be obedient to the instruction of the gas man who fixed my gas leak last week as I have no competency in the area of gas fitting. I am willing to be obedient to the teacher who is helping me to hone my skills as a student because I know that she has expertise and skill that I do not have, and yet hope to learn. The manager who has the whole picture of a workplace in mind, and also holds the confidences of various delicate human resources problems, is to be followed even when some decisions seem to make no sense. Why? Because certain people, like managers, have the burden of responsibility of holding pieces of the picture in tandem that we are not privileged to know, or indeed, have no business knowing. I am also willing (mostly) to obey the laws of the road as I drive, for the safety of all who use the roads. And I am willing to obey the laws of the land in order that we might know civil order and just governance. In the body politic, obedience is in important part of social order. This is true in the world and it is true in the Church. It need not be a tyrannical sort of thing.

When I work with those preparing for baptism and we arrive at the vow “Do you promise to obey Jesus as Lord?” this word “obey” creates considerable difficulties. Will I love Jesus? Will I follow Jesus? Will I turn to Jesus? Yes to all of the above, but to obey? We did take that word out of the marriage liturgy after all, didn’t we? Obedience causes us problems. And yet, as illustrated there are cases where we obey those in authority and the rules of society without a second thought. Why do we balk at obedience to the one who created us and love us with more depth and passion than any human love can know? Why do we have a problem with obedience to the will of God? I wonder if it is because we still, somewhere in the depths of our being, harbor unhealthy images of an angry God – God the angry parent; or God the King who punishes the seditious rebel. But is this the God we proclaim? I do not believe it is the God whereof Luke speaks, the God who has compassion for the broken, the wounded and the sinner. Nor is it the God of whom St. Paul writes to Titus, who in Christ Jesus “appeared bringing salvation to all!” Yes, God is our Judge, but oh, he is a merciful judge who longs to draw even the most rebellious of his creatures into his loving embrace and reconciling arms which were outstretched on the cross for just such a purpose. Perhaps one of my favourite quotations from that most judicious of Anglican divines, Richard Hooker, will illustrate the point and bring it home, “Be of good comfort, we have to do with a merciful God, ready to make the best of that little which we hold well, and not with a captious sophister, which gathereth the worst out of everything in which we err… the bowels of the mercy of God are larger.” Who would not offer obedience to such a merciful and loving God?

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

A New Appointment

2010-08-29T11:15:00.000-04:00

This morning, it was announced that the Most Rev. Colin Johnson, Archbishop of Toronto, has appointed me priest-in-charge of Trinity Church, Bradford. This appointment is effective September 20th, 2010 and as such, September 19th will be my last Sunday at Holy Trinity, Thornhill. There is, of course, excitement on moving into a new appointment, but there is also the sadness that departure brings. I came to Holy Trinity in August 2007 as assistant curate under a two year appointment. I was very pleased when Bishop George allowed me to stay for an additional year as associate priest. I am grateful to God for the opportunity to minister in such a wonderful community, journeying through joys and sorrows, and forming pastoral relationships in this community. I am grateful to all the people of Holy Trinity, Thornhill for welcoming me allowing me to journey with them. I am also grateful to my mentor and friend, Canon Greg Physick for the time we shared in ministry. With such wonderful memories, leaving is never an easy thing. However, the God who makes all things new is continually calling us into new things, and God is calling the people of Holy Trinity, Thornhill, the people of Trinity Bradford, and me, each into a new thing. There are uncertainties and anxieties, but there is also the excitement and opportunity that change brings. Thus, we go forward in faithfulness to a loving God who changeth not even as we journey through the changes and chances of this wonderful life.

Even At The Grave We Make Our Song

2010-08-04T02:19:00.001-04:00

On Friday, July 30th, I left the office and headed home, looking forward to beginning my holiday time. My final ten days in the office before my holidays were to begin were days in which I was filled with joy and gratitude at being a priest in the Church. I count it a great privilege to journey with the people of this place through moments of joy and moments of sadness. Two funerals, two weddings, a confirmation, and a couple of more wedding interviews were all features of these days leading up to vacation time. Each event was filled with such abounding grace and love. Although ready for a holiday, I was feeling grateful to God for being called into this wonderful vocation.

I arrived home that evening to the unnerving news that my sister-in-law (Athena’s youngest sister), who was expecting, had gone into labour at 23 weeks. We hurried to the hospital and it quickly became clear that the outlook was not at all good. The next morning (in a sad convergence of events, as it was also Athena’s birthday), my sister-in-law gave birth to a stillborn baby boy. What was supposed to have been a joyous beginning in the life of this young couple, gave way so quickly to shock and bereavement, and we were all left wondering, “why?”

The next evening, our family still dealing with the profound grief of this loss, I received an email from Archbishop Colin Johnson, which was sent to all the clergy of the diocese, that our former area bishop, the Rt. Rev. Taylor Pryce, had died suddenly after a very brief battle with an aggressive form of cancer. When I was a very young man of 22, Bishop Pryce confirmed me, and actively encouraged me to seek Holy Orders. I shall always remember him presiding at the liturgy with such great joy and enthusiasm. He was a man who deeply loved his Lord and Master and served him well. I shall ever fondly remember him continuing to encourage me toward a life in ministry as our paths crossed over the years since his retirement. His death came as a great shock to many of us have felt his influence in our lives and ministries.

As a priest, when I preside at the funeral and burial of those who have departed this life and await their Resurrection on the last day, I invariably offer the following ancient words found in our liturgy, which have their origin in the Russian Church:
All of us go down to the dust, and yet even at the grave we make our song: “Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!”

Sometimes, it is easier than others to make our song at the graveside. Sometimes, the Alleluias can be made with thanksgiving and without reservation. Last night I drove to St. James, Orillia, where Bishop Pryce was lying in state. I offered condolences to the family and stood before the casket of our dear bishop, and offered him a word of thanks for seeing in me the seed of a vocation when I was so doubtful. And I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for calling this man into his vocation as a bishop in the Church of God, and for sharing him with us for a time. It was easy to give thanks, to make my song, to praise God, and chant my Alleluia.

Tomorrow, I journey with a young couple to the funeral home as they plan their farewell to their child who knew life for but a short time and only in the warmth of his mother’s womb. How much more difficult it is to approach that graveside with a song, to form an Alleluia on our lips, when there are so many dashed hopes and unfulfilled dreams. This Alleluia is a much harder one to make.

But whatever the circumstance, it is my sacred duty and most solemn privilege as a priest in the Church to go to the grave and make that song. Whether we can make sense of a death, much less a life, is not what is at stake. What is at stake is the hope we have in the fullness of Christ that no matter the shortness or longevity of this earthly life, in Christ we shall be fully known in all our divine potentiality. As we journey into the arms of our Lord we attain the perfection that so eludes us in this pilgrimage; and this is why whether it be the death of a stillborn baby or a retired bishop we unfailingly make our song, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia, and proclaim that in Christ, death has not won the day.

As a priest I shall sing that song for baby Isaac as I have sung it for my bishop, and I pray that in singing it, God shall deal tenderly with my frail human heart that still harbours its silent question, “why?”

You Did Not Choose Me, I Chose You - A Reflection for St. Benedict's Day, 2010

2010-07-16T00:01:00.001-04:00

This past week, we celebrated the feast day of St. Benedict, a great father of Western monasticism. What follows is a reflection on the text of the day, John 15:12-17, and the words of Jesus, "You did not choose me, I chose you."

You did not choose me, I chose you.

Putting aside the debates of the Reformation on predestination and double-predestination (and any other kind of predestination!), these words of our Lord give us pause to consider the purpose of all our pious striving. Ah, how often we forget that it is not our longing for God that has brought us to this place, but God’s longing for us! You did not choose me, I chose you. And yes, while any relationship requires a mingling of the “yeses” of delight in one another, may we never forget that God’s “yes” is the affirmation in which all our hope is grounded. Every “yes” that builds up the commonwealth of God’s gracious rule, and points forward to the perfect day in which all things are gathered together in God, is a “yes” that finds its animation and liveliness in the “yes” God exudes for the whole of his creation and for his people.

On St. Benedict’s Day, a day in which consider the gift of that great father of monasticism, we might very well be drawn to exhort ourselves to deeper fulfillment of the two pillars of his thought, obedience and prayer. Without a doubt, the ordering of our spiritual landscape through a devoted pattern of daily prayer is a joy without peer. Oh, the labour of it all when we have yet to take it up! And oh, the labour of it all when we have let our obedience to the discipline slip! But oh, the joy when we, having failed in prayer, again offer the rhythm of our lives once again to our creator, when we sit in the presence of the one who calls us by name, and when we sing the praise of Christ our God. Oh, the times I have failed in prayer, but oh, the times I have found my home again in God. So, on this day we may choose to exhort ourselves to a recommitment to the vows we have made to be obedient unto a life ordered prayer, but perhaps, just perhaps, there is another more profound recommitment we can make.

You did not choose me, I chose you.

With these words of Jesus ever resting on our hearts, let us hear again to the depths of being the passionate “yes” that God has uttered to us, both as his people and as his individual and well-beloved children. No relationship can be sustained alone on promises made long ago -- our vows begin a life in community; they do not complete it. Frail creatures that we are, again and again we need to hear the words, “I love you,” and again and again, we need to offer from the depths of our own being the words, “and I love you.” And of course, through the changes and chances of this fleeting life, through good times and bad, we bear one another, as St. Paul says, in that same love. On this day, let us recommit ourselves to listening once again to that word of love, “You did not choose me, I chose you!”

The discipline of love may seem difficult and wearying through certain valleys and roads of our common life. Yet, it is always to be remembered that the perfect love of God draws us along in the moments we take to be our greatest failures in love. So, too, it is with the rhythm of obedience we call prayer. Thus, we can be thankful for the words of Jesus, “you did not choose me, I chose you.” These words set me free from my failure to love and my failure to pray. More profoundly, though, I am more than freed, I am loved; and that love enlivens me to love and to pray. Thus, my greatest failure is my greatest hope because God in Christ is faithful in love, choosing me again and again, choosing you again and again, and in that never-failing love, there is hope for us all.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Bishop William Hockin appointed Interim Priest-in-charge of Holy Trinity Church

2010-07-12T10:20:00.003-04:00

I am pleased to announce that our area Bishop, the Rt. Rev. George Elliott, has appointed the Rt. Rev. William Hockin, the Eighth Bishop of Fredericton (ret.) as Interim Priest-in-charge of Holy Trinity Church, effective September 1st, 2010. Bishop Hockin’s first Sunday with us will be September 5th.

Bishop Hockin received a licentiate in theology from the College of Emmanuel and St. Chad (Sask), in 1963, his BA from Waterloo Lutheran University in 1967 and holds three honorary doctorate degrees. He was ordained a deacon in 1962 and was priested in 1963. From 1962-1966 he was the Assistant Curate of All Saints’ Church, Windsor, ON, and later the rector of St. John’s Tillsonburg and St. Stephen’s Culloden, the Rector of St George’s London, and St. Paul’s Bloor Street. He also served as the chaplain to Havergal College from (1986-1993). In 1996 he left St. Paul’s Bloor Street to become the Dean of Fredericton and Rector of Christ Church Cathedral and in 1998 was elected co-adjutor bishop of Fredericton and in the year 2000 became the eighth diocesan bishop of Fredericton. He retired in 2003.

Bishop Hockin is married to Isabelle, and they are looking forward to moving into the area in late August and joining us in September.

Fr. Dan

Farewell to the Canon

2010-07-01T15:04:00.004-04:00

This past Sunday, Canon Greg Physick, the rector of Holy Trinity Church in Thornhill retired after recently celebrating thirty-five years in Holy Orders. Canon Greg served at Holy Trinity for nearly five years, after a lengthy incumbency at St. Matthew-the-Apostle, Oriole (in Willowdale). He had also been the rector of St. Francis-of-Assisi, Mississauga, St. Paul's, Pickering, and began his ministry as Assistant Curate of St. Clement's, Eglinton. It was a privilege and a pleasure for me to serve first as his Assistant Curate, and latterly as his Associate Priest. I learned much from the Canon, specifically, about loving and caring for the people of God. The thing most to be admired about the Canon, though, is his love of being a priest of the Church. Whether it is at the altar as he offers up the sacred mysteries or as he visits the sick and "shut-in" of the Church bringing them the sacrament of our Lord's body and blood, his joy of ministry is always evident and brimming over for all to see. I have long believed that a priest of the Church should exude the joy of the gospel and of our Lord, and Canon Greg certainly exudes this joy in extravagance. The Canon lives out the sort of priestly vocation that never goes out of style, but is always central to ministry, namely a passionate love of God and care for God's people. Whatever trends of ministry may come and go, this sort of ministry endures. The Church continues to be blessed in having such a fine priest amongst its college of presbyters.

He now moves on into retirement, and with time, new ways to live out his priestly vocation. After three wonderful years together, it was an emotional goodbye for both of us. I am happy to continue to regard him as a beloved father-in-God and treasured friend. Thank you for all you have shared with me and for all I learned from you, my friend. Enjoy your well-earned retirement.

Most Blessed, Glorious, and Holy Trinity

2010-05-21T14:02:00.013-04:00

The parish in which I serve as associate priest (Holy Trinity Anglican Church, in Thornhill, Ontario) is steeped in history. It is the oldest continually used church building in the Diocese of Toronto. The church was completed in 1830 and dedicated by Archdeacon (later Bishop) John Strachan in February of that year. It 1840 it was widened to include two side aisles with pews. I'm told by Prof. John Hurd, who gave a lecture on the architecture of the church last year, that this was accomplished by raising the roof. The original trusses from the first roof are still in place with the new trusses constructed several feet above the original ones. This is all the more remarkable, given the fact that the building was disassembled (the boards marked and numbered), moved, and reconstructed in 1950 in its current location.

In future posts I do hope to offer a bit more about the history of this remarkable Georgian building (more parish history can be found here), but today I wish to highlight the latest addition, a new set of stained glass windows. The church has windows dating back to the 19th century, most of them designed by the renowned firm, Robert McCausland Ltd. Recently, Andrew McCausland (the fifth generation of McCauslands to operate the firm) dropped by to review some of our windows. A family was wishing to offer a memorial for their parents. Andrew suggested that given the fact that the parish is dedicated to the Holy Trinity, a Trinity window for the interior doors of our church entrance would be very appropriate. So in this year of our 180th anniversary, and after some drawings were exchanged and approval received by the family, our new Trinity windows were installed this week. They are indeed are a glorious addition to the building.

The image is modern in design but incorporates a very traditional set of Christian symbols. At the centre of the image are three rings that represent the three persons of the Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The rings intersect each other and yet are distinct in and of themselves, underscoring the nature of the Holy Trinity as constituted by distinct persons yet of one being. Around the symbol of the Trinity are a series of smaller circles, in sets of the threes. These represent the twelve apostles, who in their triad groupings reflect the divine life of the Triune God lived out in Christian community. More importantly, though, they move outward from the centre toward the corners, bringing the Good New from Jerusalem to the four corners of the Earth. The horizontal and vertical lines represent the straight way of the faith, the road upon which we journey as Christian people, and from which we strive not depart. The lines are both horizontal and vertical, indicating that the way of faith takes place both in this earthly life (the horizontal) and has a heavenward completion (the vertical). As these roads intesect they form a cross, the means through which Christ wrought our redemption, and yet reminding us that if we should follow him we must take up our cross. The curving lines represent the temptations that threaten to draw us from the way.

The Canon will dedicate the windows on May 30, 2010 (Trinity Sunday - our patronal festival). They are given by the Rutherford family to the Glory of God and in loving memory of their parents, Midge and Douglas Rutherford. The Canon and I both had the wonderful privilege to minister to Midge until her death in 2008 at the age of 99. She was a delightful lady who lived in a local retirement residence. Midge was fond of telling us that she remembered first hand the Halifax explosion of 1917. When we visited for our monthly liturgy of the Holy Eucharist, Midge had the special ministry of setting out the hymn books and prayer books. She welcomed people with a wonderful sense of hospitality. Whenever we would offer a word of thanks to her she would brush it off as if we were being silly in thanking her. It has certainly not been the same without her gracious presence. This window is a loving tribute to Midge and Douglas, and a beautiful gift honouring our Holy Triune God. We are most grateful to the Rutherford family for this special offering that is sure to enrich our shared life, and ever remind us as we enter this special house of God, of the Holy Trinity that gives us life.

Why Was Peter Fishing Naked?

2010-04-23T21:20:00.003-04:00

“Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, ‘Children, you have no fish, have you?’ They answered him, ‘No.’ He said to them, ‘cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the lake. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.” (John 21:4-8)

When we preach on this, the last of the Resurrection appearances in St. John’s Gospel, we rarely stop to ask the question, why was Peter fishing in the nude? After all, the story from which this short excerpt is taken contains so many wonderful images on which we might otherwise preach: the multitudinous catch of fish, the Beloved Disciple recognizing the Lord, the command of Jesus to Peter to feed his sheep, and the prediction of Peter’s own martyrdom. It is really no wonder that we pay scant attention to this obscure little detail.

However, when the Gospel is proclaimed in the midst of the people and this section of the passage is read, there are usually more than a few eyebrows raised, and one occasionally hears a chuckle or two. This past Sunday this led me to offer the throwaway comment at the outset of my homily, “I know you will all be greatly disappointed today, but I am not going to preach on why Peter was fishing in the nude.” I did promise, though, that I would supply a blog entry on the subject in the not-to-distant future.

So, why was Peter fishing naked? And why on earth would the Evangelist have included this little detail in the story? One of the things we often tell people in Bible study is to check out other English translations of the Bible when a passage seems obscure or confusing. I figured I should practice what I preach and turned to a few random versions of the Bible found on my own bookshelf.

The passage quoted above is from the New Revised Standard Version, the version that we read in public worship in the Anglican Church of Canada. Here is the line in question, once again:

“he put on some clothes, for he was naked” (NRSV).

I then turned to the precursor to the NRSV, the Revised Standard Version (RSV):

“he put on his clothes, for he was stripped for work,” (RSV)

Next I checked the New International Version (NIV)

“he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off)” (NIV)

The New American Standard Bible (NASB) reads:

“he put on his outer garment (for he was stripped for work)” (NASB)

Finally, I also consulted the old King James Version

"he girt his fishers coat unto him, (for he was naked)," (KJV)

What are we to make of all of this? The translations vary widely. Did he put on “clothes”, his “outer garment” or his “fisher’s coat”? Was he “naked” or “stripped for work?” Clearly there must be some ambiguity about how to translate the Greek text. Or is there some significant textual variant in the existing manuscript tradition that causes translators to opt for a different rendering?

The next order of business was to check the Greek text.

I consulted the NA27 (Nestle-Aland 27th edition), the critical edition of the Greek New Testament (a modern scholarly reconstruction of the Greek text based on all extant manuscript evidence) and there appears to be no significant manuscript variance. This means that there are no “competing versions” or “competing readings” of this passage. Fine, so how does the passage actually read in the Greek text? Here it is from NA27:

Ton ependytēn diezōsato, ēn gar gymnos

To deal with the second half of the sentence first, “ēn gar gymnos” is literally translated “for (gar) he was (ēn) naked (gymnos).” Both the KJV and the NRSV have opted for the most literal translation of the phrase. The NIV’s “for he had taken it off” interprets the phrase as referring back to the status of the garment in the first part of the passage, rather than a parenthetical comment on Peter’s status. Thus, it is a much looser, more periphrastic translation. It describes what has happened but is not a strict translation. The RSV and NASB’s “for he was stripped for work,” looks like an explanatory gloss on “naked” intended to provide a less offensive reading for more prudish eyes. Nevertheless, I considered it probably worth consulting a lexicon to determine the spectrum of meaning for the work “gymnos”.

The BAGD (Baur-Arndt-Gingrich-Danker) lexicon provides the primary definition of gymnos as “naked, stripped, bare.” However, a secondary definition attests a usage that could mean “without an outer garment.” A further definition is “poorly dressed”. So, it could have been that Peter was either naked, or simply wearing his “underclothing.” Given that ancient outer clothing might have been a bit more “billowy” that the outer clothing we wear today (no pants or button down shirts) it would be conceivable that those who engaged in various forms of manual labour might abandon their outer clothing for ease of movement. There is some evidence amongst ancient authors that this is precisely what sailors did. Perhaps this was the situation with Peter. Therefore, any translation that reads “naked,” or “stripped down,” or “without an outer garment” could be considered a plausible reading. That the RSV and NASB versions add the gloss “for work” is a helpful and probably an accurate explanation of why Peter was without clothing, but we should be aware that it is a gloss and not strictly part of the Greek text.

Now, returning to the first part of the sentence, the above translations don’t seem to be all that clear on what the garment was that Peter put on. Furthermore, there is some question as to how the garment is donned.

The Greek reads: ton ependytēn diezōsato. The garment in question is an “ependytēs”, and BAGD supplies the definition, an “outer garment,” or “outer coat.” That is clear enough. Peter was not wearing his “outer clothing.” The RSV and NRSV’s, “he put on some clothes” is perhaps lacking in precision as they fail to define what sort of clothing Peter “put on.” Therefore, in this case, the NIV (and NASB)’s “outer garment” is more precise and likely the most accurate. The KJV’s “fisher’s coat” is unfounded.

But by what means did Peter don this “outer garment?” The Greek verb is a form (aorist middle) of diazōnnymi, which means “to tie around,” or in the form here, to tie around oneself. Thus, the NIV’s “he wrapped his outer garment around him” most closely reflects the Greek in this case (the more antiquated KJV’s “girt himself” also illustrates the mode of dressing more clearly than other translations that simply imply that he “put on clothes). The significant thing is that he had to fasten his clothes about himself, perhaps by tying the garment itself, or fastening it with some kind of cincture.

Each of the translations cited above has something to commend them, but we note that none of them precisely translate the Greek text on their own. None of them are strictly wrong, as they all catch the sense of what was happening in the moment, namely, that Peter, stripped down because he was fishing, clothed himself and jumped into the water. However, if we were to seek a more precise reading out of a desire to get beyond merely the sense of the passage, we should probably translate the passage thus:

“He wrapped (or girded) his outer garment around himself, for he was naked (or stripped down).”

The above translation (or alternate translations provided in brackets) would be a very close translation to the Greek text. Of course, none of this answers the question as to why Peter needed to get dressed to jump into the water and go to the shore to meet Jesus. The most likely explanation is that while it was just fine to be “stripped down” or “semi-naked” to work, it would be inappropriate to engage in social relations in such a state. Thus, it is most likely that Peter got dressed simply because he was changing roles. He was leaving his work to meet and converse with another person, namely Jesus.

If you have followed me this far, and I congratulate you for persevering through the lesson in Bible translating, then we may still be wondering why the Evangelist would even bother to include this detail at all. Why does it matter? Would it not have been enough to have simply had Peter jump from the boat and come to meet Jesus? Why tell us that he was naked (or seriously stripped down) and got dressed? Why include this little detail that seems so unnecessary to the advancement of the story?

But is it unnecessary? I would suggest that there is something in this little detail of this final Resurrection story in the Gospel of John that makes it a very important part of the narrative. Let us recount some highlights of the narrative for a moment.

From the seashore, Jesus calls to his disciples, who are having a bad go of their fishing expedition, and tells them where to fish. The Beloved Disciple (that unnamed follower of Jesus, a crucial character in the Gospel of John), ever the astute observer, recognizes that the man on the seashore is the Risen Jesus. At this point, Simon Peter, who is naked (as are presumably the rest of the fishermen), girds his outer garment around himself and jumps into the sea and proceeds to the shore to meet Jesus. Note that none of the other disciples do this; rather, they remain attentive to their tasks and come in with their boats and the load of fish. After Jesus cooks them up a nice fish and bread breakfast over a charcoal fire, Jesus and Peter have a little chat. Thrice Jesus asks Peter to “feed his sheep.” This three-fold command and trust in Peter is clearly meant to parallel (and absolve) Peter’s three-fold denial of the Lord before the crucifixion. Peter is hurt by Jesus’ pressing upon him in this way. He professed his faithfulness before his betrayal of Jesus, and now he professes it again. Perhaps, though, Jesus needs to help him understand a little more clearly what it will mean to shepherd his people, and tell him a little story, which goes something like this (according to the NRSV): “when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt and take you where you do not wish to go” (John 21:18) Then the Evangelist has a little aside with the readers and reminds them that this was Jesus’ way of telling Peter how he would be martyred.

Interestingly enough, the verb used twice in 21:18 for “fasten” is zōnnymi (or zōnnyō), which shares the root of the verb diazōnnymi (from John 21:7, above). This leads me to wonder if Peter’s clothing of himself in 21:7 is an enactment of at least the first action of Jesus’ prediction of Peter’s passion and death in 21:18. If I am correct, the Jesus’ words to Peter are an object lesson on his impetuosity and his all-too-readiness to go down a road he doesn’t quite understand. If I am indeed correct, the story reads something a little like this:

When Peter realizes that it is Jesus on the shore, with his usual impetuosity, he fastens his outer garment around himself and jumps into the water and heads to shore, leaving the other disciples to take up the slack by bringing in the boats and fish. Peter is right and ready to get back to following Jesus, and yet still he doesn’t understand what that means. When Jesus begins to explain Peter what leadership in about, he illustrates the contrast by way of Peter’s immediately prior behaviour. “Oh, Peter,” Jesus might have said, “you are so quick to gird yourself and plunge headlong into the task. That’s what we are like when we’re young, is it not? But the time will come when another will gird you and take you where you do not want to go. You won’t be wrapping your mantle about yourself so quickly then!” Or perhaps this is core of the message, “You rush to meet me now, but you do recall, don’t you, that following me is the way of the cross?”

I suppose this is all to say that the message Jesus speaks across the ages to us is that leadership in the Church is less about what we want (which is signified by Peter’s enthusiastic girding of himself with his outer garment and jumping forward to meet Jesus) and more about where the way of the Cross takes us (signified Peter being girded by others and being taken down a road that he would not otherwise traverse on his own). Indeed, Jesus reiterates to Peter (and the others, John 21:19, 22) after all is said and done, the same call he uttered first in John 1:43 at the outset of his ministry, “Follow me.” These words take us to a cross, but that cross is the glory of God. Christian leadership is fully realized in the glory of the cross. It is not a mantle that we tie about ourselves lightly.

If I am correct about these things, this is the reason that John tells us the story of why Peter was fishing naked (or at least in his underwear).

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

"You are Witnesses to These Things" - A Reflection for Eastertide, 2010

2010-04-11T05:59:00.002-04:00

Before Jesus ascends into heaven in the final verses of St. Luke’s Gospel, he sat with his disciples and had a little Bible Study. We are told that “he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and he said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses to these things.”

Just in case that had not fully understood, after following him through his ministry, after watching him be taken away to trial and execution, and then after seeing him appear to them not as a ghost, but in his physical body, he made it absolutely clear what his life, death, and resurrection meant (and continue to mean). The story of Jesus is about repentance and reconciliation, it is about facing our darkness that we might dwell in the light, it is about touching our brokenness that we might live in wholeness.

It is difficult for us to recognize within ourselves the need for repentance. It is much easier to look upon the sins and faults of others and call them to repentance. It is much easier to cry out “you have hurt me!” than to confess, “I know that I have hurt you.” It is much easier to look upon the darkness of this world and be thankful that I am not living in poverty or broken relationships, than to look at myself in the mirror and face my own spiritual and emotional poverty, or to really take stock of the relationships in my life that need mending. It is much easier for me give sympathy to those who are broken, in body mind or spirit, than to admit that I have much within my own life that needs healing. It is not easy claim our need to repent, to turn from darkness, and ask for healing.

This is what our Lenten journey has been about. It has been about doing that deep “shadow work” and bearing our souls to the light of Christ, that we might be transformed by the light. At the apex of if all is the moment when Christ, in deepest humility and profound vulnerability, hung on the cross. In that event, our shame was exposed before God and before the world.

I have often pondered why it took a few days for Jesus to rise from the dead? After all God could have done it in an instant. Why wait until Sunday? The Crucifixion-event is the moment in which human shame is exposed for all to see. Sometimes we need to sit with the shame of our failures exposed for a time. We need to weep before the cross of our brokenness and failure. Any one of us will know that transformation takes time. Healing takes time. When we recognize we are in need of healing, that is the first step. To live with what ails us is another. To expose our brokenness so that we might get help in our healing is yet another stage. I wonder if that period between mid-day on Good Friday and early dawn of Easter morning is the moment of exposure in which our tears flow that we might be washed thoroughly by God’s healing grace?

Then healing comes. Transformation comes. Christ is Risen! Then comes perspective. Jesus opens the Scriptures to his disciples and explains to them what it has all meant: recognizing brokenness, confessing that we need healing, exposing our wounds by seeking reconciliation, living for a moment in the nakedness of our shame and sadness, and then, in our vulnerability, finding our strength. The cross gives way to the risen life.

“You are witnesses to these things.”

We are not citizens of first century Judea, so no; we are not witnesses in that sense. But we are indeed witnesses. If we have hurt others and our Lord has turned that hurt into reconciliation, we are his witnesses. If we have felt overwhelmed by the darkness of the world only to realize that the light shines more brightly and casts away the darkness, then we are his witnesses. If we have hidden our brokenness -- physical, emotional or spiritual -- and later found that in unveiling our brokenness before the Great Physician, we have been healed, then we are his witnesses.

If we have, in moments of weakness, in our most fragile vulnerability, called upon the Lord and known his gentle healing touch, we are indeed his witnesses. And if we have not, it is never too late, for Christ Jesus, risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, is the enduring witness of God’s healing love.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Sing, My Tongue, The Glorious Battle - A Reflection for Good Friday

2010-04-02T06:00:00.001-04:00

The Good Friday liturgy is, without a doubt, the most solemn liturgy of the year. At the appointed hour the congregation assembles and the clergy enter the church in silence, dressed only in their black cassocks. The altar and chancel, having been stripped of all adornments the previous evening, appear stark and barren. The service begins with a solemn confession, without absolution. The absence of the absolution is striking and we might wonder where that particular liturgical event has gone, but as the liturgy unfolds, we come to understand that the entire liturgical enactment of our Lord’s passion is the absolution so desperately sought after by our wounded souls. Readings from Scripture then follow. First we hear of the suffering servant in Isaiah 53; next is chanted the words of the twenty-second psalm, the very cry of Jesus’ dereliction on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Next, come words from Hebrews, and finally, the long reading of St. John’s Passion. Following the homily, we pray the Solemn Intercession punctuated by moments of silence.

The drama of the liturgy heightens when a large wooden cross is carried in procession around the church while a hymn is sung. This procession often takes place to the singing of that well-beloved hymn, “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.” The cross is then placed before the people and all kneel in devotion as the meditation on the cross is sung. Our Book of Alternative Services, provides several anthems that may be sung, but the most powerful of these contains a series of solemn reproaches, literally a dialogue between God and God’s people reproaching us for the evil that we do, in which we in turn respond with the ancient words of the Trisagion, “Holy God, holy and mighty, holy and immortal one, have mercy upon us.” The reproaches are harsh and elicit profound emotional and spiritual reflection on our own failings as a people, and as a species in spite of the infinite majesty, goodness, and love of God. The words of the confession at the opening of the service are most fully experienced and understood at this point. Few are not moved to tears. Nails may be driven into the wooden cross at this point in the service.

For many, this may be the most powerful liturgy of the Church Year as it draws us deep into the reality of our human brokenness and need of divine healing. It is in this liturgy that we face the demons of our existence. It is in this liturgy that we realize that it is we who have crucified our Saviour. All we like sheep have gone astray.

A strange thing happens just before the liturgy ends, though. The rubric in the liturgy then states, most assertively, that “the hymn ‘Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle,’ or some other hymn extolling the glory of the cross” is to be sung. To my knowledge, this I the only place in the entire Book of Alternative Services in which a particular hymn is instructed to be sung. The ancient hymn, written in the sixth century by Venantius Fortunatus, translated by the incomparable Percy Dearmer (1867-1936), and preferably sung to the triumphant tune “Oriel”, begins:

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle;
sing the ending of the fray;
now above the cross, the trophy,
sound the loud triumphant lay:
Tell how Christ, the world’s redeemer,
as a victim, won the day.

The participant in the liturgy will then experience a striking dissonance with the rest of the liturgy. It may feel as if this solemn liturgy has been “wrecked” by this triumphant hymn. This dissonance is intended, for we are then drawn out of the darkness and hopelessness of our human condition by the proclamation that in the cross of Christ we are redeemed from al l that ails us. The instrument of death and shame has been transformed for us by God, into a sign of hope and new life. Thus, the cross is no longer seen as an insidious instrument of torture, but instead as the new tree of life. The third verse underscores this with these words,

Faithful cross, thou sign of triumph,
now for us the noblest tree,
none in foliage, none in blossom,
none in fruit thy peer may be;
symbol of the world’s redemption,
For the weight that hung on thee!

The tree of life can carry all the weight that we cannot carry, our personal failings, the failings of our systems and governments, and incomprehensible evil that men and women do. The tree of life takes it all and in spite of it all blossoms forth with the fruit of redemption, reconciliation and new life. This gives us reason to rejoice, even during the enactment of our most solemn liturgy. It does not wreck the mood of the day; rather, it transforms it, and proclaims the mystery of our faith. It pronounces the absolution that is missing at the opening of the liturgy. This is why this day “good” Friday and not “bad” Friday: The cross which should appear to be bad news is in fact Good News. We stay not under the condemnation of our brokenness but taste of the fruit of the tree of life.

Then, in faith we pray together the prayer that Jesus taught us, and depart in silence, meditating on this joyous truth, and awaiting the promise of Easter.

c. 2010, The Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Spark Interview with the Rev. Heather McCance

2010-03-27T18:46:00.003-04:00

My good friend and colleague, the Rev. Heather McCance, incumbent of St. Andrew's Church in Scarborough, was interviewed the the CBC radio program Spark, this week. Her interview touches on how the internet has revolutionized the distribution of sermons (a topic dear to my heart) in both positive and negative ways, and how the internet has facilitated "sermon-theft." The podcast of the interview can be found here. Heather did a fantastic job. I hope you all take the time to listen to it.

Darkness Cannot Overcome the Light - A Reflection for Holy Week

2010-03-26T14:07:00.003-04:00

“When the great crowd of the Judeans learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Judeans were deserting and believing in him.”-- John 12:9-11

Darkness cannot withstand the light that is cast upon it. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it,” writes St. John in the opening verses of his gospel narrative. It may seem as though darkness rules the present age, for we live in an age of pessimism. We live in a time when words of good news are dismissed as sentimental and idealistic, and a world in which those who pronounce good news are thought of as peddlers of starry-eyed dreams. If there is a good news story to be heard, it is relegated to the end of the broadcast, to the final page, below the fold, and if some better bad news comes along, we will kill the good news altogether.

At the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus of Bethany, a good news story was being told: Lazarus who had died was alive, and through his resurrection many people were coming to believe in Jesus. This good news story was too much. It unsettled the Judean leaders and drove them to scorn. Indeed, this good news angered them so much that they sought to snuff out the life of the one who proclaimed this news, and also the life of the one whose life had been restored. Jesus and Lazarus had become marked men. The leaders of the Judean people simply could not comprehend what this good news meant.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it. The Greek word, “to overcome”(katalambanein), has a variety of connotations. It has been translated variously throughout the years. Many of the early Church Fathers tended toward the definition, “to comprehend” or “to grasp,” and this is certainly the rendering in the King James Version, which reads, “The light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not.”

At the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus of Bethany, the light was shining in darkness, but darkness failed to understand it, failed to grasp it: the darkness comprehended not the light, and in failing to understand it, it sought to snuff it out. The leaders planned to destroy Jesus and his witness Lazarus. Not only did they seek to destroy the light itself, but to destroy any witnesses to the light.

But paradox upon paradox, to destroy the light was only to cause it to shine more brightly! Those closest to the Lord understood this, Martha proclaimed him as messiah and confessed her faith in the resurrection of the dead, Mary anointed him as for burial in anticipation of his reign, and Lazarus’ very life witnessed to the reality that death would not destroy the light of the world. Jesus announced, “When I am lifted up, I shall draw all people unto me.” He proclaimed boldly that against the onslaught of darkness and night, against the torture of crucifixion, the darkness would not overcome the light. Good news rises like a phoenix from the ashes of death. The darkness failed to comprehend the light and the darkness failed to overcome the light.

Thus, the darkness can make its claims on the day, but it shall not prevail. The darkness shall attempt to snuff out the light, but it will not succeed. The darkness will seek to silence and envelop all those who testify to the light, but it has no power over those who witness to the light, because even the darkness of the grave itself cannot contain the bright Sun of Righteousness, the Light of the World, who cast his rays into the darkest corners of the depths of our hearts and souls and replaces the shadows of doubt with the light of life.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

On Empathy and Keeping an Open Mind

2010-03-19T21:04:00.000-04:00

Last night I was listening to a portion of the 2009 Dalton Camp Lecture being aired on the CBC Radio programme, Ideas. The lecturer was Sue Gardner, the executive director of the Wikimedia Foundation. During the portion that I heard, Gardner spoke about how the internet has let us into worlds that would be impenetrable to us in another time. In particular, the rise of blogs, chatrooms, and group websites allows us to peer into the world of individuals and groups radically unlike ourselves. For example, Gardner spoke about surveying the blogs of conspiracy theorists. With "in person" social interaction, we tend to naturally gravitate to those with whom we agree and build relationships and networks with them. Without relationships, it is difficult to understand the minds of hearts of those radically "other" from us and to feel empathy for them. Typically, the chief way we overcome prejudice and build bridges of reconciliation is through deepening relationships with those with whom we find ourselves in conflict. Garder suggests that the new online world gives us an opportunity to experience the world of those who are radically "other," those with whom we would never associate (or have the privilege even to peer into their world). Circles that were once very private are now very public and open to online viewing. She believes that this is an opportunity for understanding and empathy.

I peruse certain very conservative Anglican blogs on a daily basis. Sometimes I find it very depressing. To be frank, I find much of what I read on these sites to be written with such anger and hatred toward mainstream Anglicanism (and especially toward gay and lesbian anglicans and those who support them), that I wonder why I visit them. Is it a perverse voyeurism on my part?

Gardner's lecture helped me to understand why I feel so compelled to make my daily visits into these strange lands; I make those visits precisely because they are lands that are strange, and shocking, and frustrating to me. It is for this reason that I must go there. It is an ethical obligation. It is an obligation of being a citizen of both the civic polis and the commonwealth of God. There is a sizeable community out there that is deeply angered and frustrated with the path the Anglican Church is taking. I am not amongst them, but I need to understand them, because if I believe anything, I believe it is that the gospel of our Lord is a gospel of reconciliation.

In my own sinfulness, I would not choose to walk amongst these people. Without looking into their world, and they into mine, how are we to have any empathy and understanding of each other. It is true that we are far from experiencing a shared relationship, but perhaps our shared online presence creates a safe space in which we can watch each other from a distance and be open to the healing and reconciling power of God in Christ.

Hope in Bereavement - What we can learn from Gregory of Nyssa

2010-03-12T13:40:00.003-05:00

This past Tuesday was the feast day of St. Gregory of Nyssa, that great Cappadocian father (died c. A.D. 395). There is much that could be said of this luminary of the early Church. We might speak of his excellent early education and training in rhetoric; we might speak of his difficult episcopacy, which he reluctantly took, later to be exiled under trumped up charges of embezzlement by his Arian foes; we could speak of his vindication and return; we could speak of his biblical exegesis and preaching, his mystical and ascetical writing, his ardent defense of the Nicene faith against his Arian foes; we could speak of contributions to our understanding of the triune God, and especially, the person and working of the Holy Spirit; we could speak of all these things, but in doing so, I fear we may fail to see something very important about the man behind the doctor of the faith, something very ordinary, prosaic and indeed common to our human condition.

In perusing Father Stephen Reynold’s wonderful book, For All the Saints: Prayers and Readings for the Saints’ Days (Toronto: Anglican Book Centre, 2004) I learned a couple of very important things about Gregory. First, his older brother, St. Basil of Caesarea, coerced him into accepting the bishopric of the small town of Nyssa. It was, as mentioned, an episcopacy fraught with conflict, false criminal accusations against Gregory, and eventual exile. It is no small wonder that he had strained relations with his older brother, which is the second fact that I discovered. Thus, behind this great father of the faith, we see a man plagued with “brother issues.” We can only begin to imagine what their relationship must have been like. I suppose it was the usual sibling relationship filled, at once, with both deep love and moments of resentment. Father Reynolds writes, “Basil died leaving Gregory regretful over the history of their strained relations.”

In 2009 at Holy Trinity, Thornhill, the Canon and I officiated at a total of over forty funerals. About half of those were members (or close relatives) of the parish. On our vestry Sunday at the Eucharistic prayer, I slowly read the names of those twenty people who were close to us who have died since the previous year’s vestry meeting. It was the longest list in many years. Since January, we have officiated at sixteen funerals to date. In the midst of life we are in death. In the reality of so much death there is much reflection on things done and left undone; on broken promises, on unfulfilled dreams, on hurtful words. Of course there is also the reflection on joyful lives well lived, but one can never underestimated the unspoken regret that is present as we say farewell to those we love. St. Gregory of Nyssa, that great Cappadocian father and doctor of the faith, who defended the Nicene faith, was just like rest of us, with regrets over relationships whose frayed threads remain unresolved at the grave.

In his deep bereavement over the loss of his brother, Gregory faced another tragedy. His beloved sister, the Holy Macrina, was also deathly ill. After the death of Basil, and in Macrina’s final days, he nursed her caringly and lovingly. In those final moments together, they formed a deep and lasting bond that transcended the grave. They shared their thoughts on the Christian faith and life. He later referred to Macrina as “his teacher.”

His deep and profound regret over things said and left unsaid, and things done and left undone in his relationship with Basil, stirred him to a deep and holy communion with Macrina as she prepared to depart this life.

It calls to mind for me one of the prayers we use regularly in our funeral liturgy, a prayer in which we pray that, “those of who were close to the deceased may now because of his or her death, be even closer to each other.” In death there is a hope that transcends the grave, but there is also another hope that touches us in the course of our earthly pilgrimage. As we face the death of a loved one and stare into the face all the regrets that might linger in the loose ends of that relationship, the God of all hope stirs within us a deeper longing for communion, reconciliation, and love amongst those who remain. This is a hope worth laying hold of, that even in the midst of the valley of the shadow of death, our God is with us and his Holy Spirit comes to us, knitting the frayed ends of our broken relationships together, that we might not sorrow as a people without hope this side of the grave or the next. This is the quieter, but no less profound teaching of St. Gregory of Nyssa.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Slowing Down - A Lenten Reflection

2010-03-06T21:52:00.003-05:00

In Luke 13:1-9, the passage appointed for Lent 3, Jesus counters the insecurity of a group of people that approach him about God's wrath upon sinners with a parable about God giving the tree that fails to bear fruit another season to grow. The individuals come to Jesus' hoping that he will confirm that they are not as bad as others who have died under horrible circumstances, apparently the wrath of God poured out upon their faithlessness. Jesus, of course, rebukes them for their own sinfulness and warns them of a similar fate if they do not repent.

At this point, we might shudder at that time honoured tactic of "evangelism by fear." But, Jesus does not leave things with this admonition, rather, he engages in his favourite passtime of storytelling. He tells them a parable about a man who is quick to cut down a tree in his vineyard that bears no fruit. But this man has a gardener who knows the virtue of patience and of careful tending of the plants in his charge. The gardener begs his employer for another year to give the tree another chance before he cuts it down. We are not told if the gardener gets his wish. The sympathic listener will hope he does, for he or she will realize that the story is not about the tree, but rather about giving us another chance. I wrote about this aspect of the parable in my homily this week. However, I wish to consider another aspect here.

Quick decision-making is seen as a virtue to most people. Decisiveness is a mark of strength. When there is a problem we must deal with it swiftly, purosefully, and with finality. How often have we hear such words trotted out by politicians. I suppose that at the root of this rhetoric is the realization that we want our problems to go away quickly, to disappear. Conflict makes us uncomfortable. We long for homeostasis in our communities. When a there is tension in a workplace, in a family, or in a society, we demand action. Those who are in leadership positions are expected to solve the problem swiftlly, without delay.

Yet, sometimes swift and decisive action is destructive and unforgiving. Sometimes, we need to stop, take a deep breath, and consider our options, as unpopular as they may be. I have been in workplace situations in which the homeostasis of the system has been upset and I have wished that some decisive leader would make things right. Conversely, I have been in several management situations when I was expected to take decisive action. There are times when swift decisions need to be made, but I believe that there are many more times when strength and integrity are best exercised by by careful, measured thought, and a resistance of decisive action. Sometimes swift decision-making is simply an act of cowardice.

I recall reading Rowan Williams' book, Writing in the Dust, a reflection on the events of Sept 11, 2001, written very shortly after the tragedy of that day. Williams was deeply worried that the response would be decisive (but thoughtless) action, simply to demontrate that in the midst of anarchy, the American government was strong and in control. Of course, his fears were realized and we are still living with the results of a thoughtless, swift reponse to those events. It has been a mark of Rowan Williams' episcopate and leadership as Archbishop of Canterbury that he proceeds slowly and thoughtfully in any matter of contention, taking plenty of time to discern the Spirit of God. He is now roundly criticized as indecisive. Slowing down seems to have become the sin of his episcopacy.

However, I still think he offers a prophetic voice in the wilderness of thoughtlessness and decisive shows of brute force. In this, I believe him to be a faithful disciple of the Lord who comes not swinging the axes but tending carefully tending the root of the tree. The temptation ever remains for us to take the axe to the tree that seems withered and bearing little fruit. After all, the land is being wasted where a new tree could be planted. Take the axe and swing it, we demand of our politicians and employers and bishops and leaders. However, I say give me the leader that is slow to anger and great with loving kindness, patience and compassion. Give me the leader that stops, and thinks, and carefully consider her task. Give me the leader that will give the tree another season. Give me the leader that will tend the soil around the failing plant. Give me the leader that will offer nourishment and care over swings of the axe. This is the leader I pray for, lest the axe fall on me.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Second Print Run Ordered for "Prayers for Healing from the Anglican Tradition"

2010-02-12T18:30:00.005-05:00

I have been informed that the first print run of my book Prayers for Healing from the Anglican Tradition is nearly sold out. A second print run has been ordered and will be arriving in stores soon. I wish to thank all those who have bought copies and have supported this project to date.

I am very pleased at the amount of publicity that the new book is getting. There was a nice write-up in this month's The Anglican (the monthly newspaper of the Diocese of Toronto the story is found on page 12 - a pdf of the paper can be accessed here), a wonderful colour advertisement in the Augsburg-Fortress Canadian Lent mailing, and today, Ali Symons the news writer for anglican.ca (the official website of the General Synod of the Anglican Church of Canada) has published a story entitled "Book of Healing Prayers Pocket-sized but Powerful".

It looks like a mini-tour is coming together as well. I have already attended a couple of events, and on Saturday, March 6th, 2010 there will be signings at the Anglican Book Centre in Toronto (10 a.m. - 12 noon) and Augsburg-Fortress in Kitchener (2 p.m. - 4 p.m.). There are also some events taking shape at various churches around the diocese. You can check the book's official website for times, dates and locations.

We are currently working on American distribution and publicity stateside, which should be coming together next week. American customers will soon be able to order the book through their local episcopal bookshop or directly from ABC's Amercian distributor, Forward Movement.

My Grandfather's Books

2010-02-09T15:22:00.004-05:00

At a meeting of the Richard Hooker Society last fall, I had a conversation with one of the senior scholars of the society, Lee Gibbs, about our shared love of books and of owning a good library. Lee related to me some words of wisdom that his father had imparted to him many years ago, “Don’t ever get rid of your books, they will be your friends in your old age.” Lee told me that he had certainly found this to be sound wisdom.

I am only in my fortieth year, but I certainly know the friendship of books. When we read we are mystically connected with those who have gone before us, who have thought about similar subjects, wrestled with similar issues and problems, who have attained wisdom we can only hope to attain. The most apparent communion (or dissonance) that we share is in the author-reader relationship. There is a conversation of the most intimate sort that happens between the author and reader, a conversation that laughs at death for death cannot silence words on the printed page, resurrected once again on the lips or in the mind of the reader. There is another communion, though, that happens between readers who share the same copy of a printed book. This is the communion that we experience we share books. Remember reading the names on those old library cards (before the advent of computerized circulation technology), and seeing who had checked out the same book as us over the last thirty years? A similar, and even deeper communion is experienced when an antique edition passes through our hands and we see the names inscribed on the front leaf under or beside the latin phrase “ex libris.”

I have a seventeenth century book that has passed through many hands. It is of no great monetary value. It is a puritan tract that I picked up only for its antiquity and subject matter when I was in England in 1995. It passed through successive generations of a single family who each inscribed their names. “Richard Wynne, his boke” reads one such inscription with an seventeenth century date beside it. Other names, possibly related, probably not, adorn that page. I have added my own with a date because it seemed fitting. Antiquarians may squirm here that I defaced such an antique edition, but I assure you, the book is really in quite bad shape. Yet, even if it were not I still would have done it. There is something special about being part of the genealogy of that little obscure book, something sacred.

My paternal grandfather had many books. He must have been a member of various mail order book clubs as his library ranges from the late thirties through his death in 1975 containing books that were clearly special mail-order editions. His library, while not large contained some substantial editions. I remember that it was on a wall in an infrequently used room in their house in the rural Ontario near Parry Sound. The room was always cold as the door was kept closed. My grandmother used the room to cool her baking, so we tended to go into it whenever we were helping her set the table or following behind her for a treat. I seem to remember her brother, an old bachelor, napping on a sofa in there from time-to-time. While the baked goods provided a sort of instant gratification and fulfillment, little did I know that editions from my grandfather’s library would provide life-long sustenance and nourishment.

When my grandfather died in 1975, I was only a lad of five. We knew that he had been sick with cancer. I remember going to stay with my maternal grandparents (who lived close to us in Richmond Hill) when my parents went away at the time of his death for the funeral. What do I remember of him? He was a carpenter and electrician who had a separate little building on their property as a workshop. I recall that he made for my brother Tim and me little toolboxes each to carry our tools in. I still don’t own any tools, but I do have that box. I remember watching him work in this shop with his table saws and drills. I remember the smell of sawdust. And I remember him smoking a pipe. To this day these are the two smells most strongly associated with my early childhood, sawdust and pipe smoke, and both of them evoke memories of this man who lives distantly in the recesses of my childhood memory. I remember a walk with him down the trail that was once part of the Grand Trunk railway which ran past their house, and I remember him picking me a blackberry, the first one I ever tasted. I don’t recall that he was a difficult man, although I’m told he was. I’m glad I don’t remember that. I do remember him sitting in his leather lazy-boy chair with his feet up, smoking a pipe, and reading.

He loved to read. His library was filled with books on all things historical. History was obviously his subject of choice. My mother once told me that when my father first brought her home to meet his parents, she remembered him sitting, with his feet propped up by the stove to keep warm, reading Shirer’s Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. She said he was the most interesting man to talk to because of what he read. He must have seemed quite an anomaly amongst the farmers of the township.

When I grew up into early adulthood and my memories of him were quickly fading, I used to sneak a peek into that room whenever possible and look at those books. There were books on world history, British History, Russian History, Napoleon, the Wars, as well as many books on local history. At this point in my life I had acquired a love of history and a love of reading. I always knew that formal training in reading history would be a part of my education. In my mind I would imagine him reading these books and I began to wonder what he was like, what it would have been like for me to know him as an adult, if he had lived.

My grandmother knew of my fascination with my grandfather’s books, and as I became a young man, she would give me a book from his library on many of my visits. Some of them I read early on, others sat on my shelf for years waiting to be read. When she died in 1997, I was given several other volumes.

When I began reading my grandfather’s books I noticed something particular that all his books had in common, that each page was pressed flat along the spine as it had been read. I began to form an image about how my grandfather handled his books. Obviously, as he turned each page, he intentionally ran his hand from bottom to top, or top to bottom along the opened page, pressing them flat along the spine, leaving a vertical crease. All of his books have this shared feature, from front to back. He read his books thoroughly and carefully. This tiny detail allowed me to feel like I was reading with him, alongside him -- a tangible sign of his presence with me as I read. In reading his copy of a treasured book, I have experienced time and again an intellectual, even mystical communion with my grandfather.

One treasured book was Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August, a well-known book that apparently influenced Kennedy’s handling of the Cuban missile crisis, about the events leading up to and the opening days of the World War I. It was clear that my grandfather was interested in military history as he had several books on the subject. I read the Guns of August during the days of August sometime in the mid or late 1990s. The text moves day-by-day through the month, in my own late twentieth century days of August, I read it day-by-day almost concurrently with the events described in the narrative. On each page I felt not only an intimate connection with the past it animated, but also an intimate connection with my grandfather, the previous reader of that book (the pages so carefully pressed and read).

To this day, I have several of his books on my shelf. There are shelves in several rooms of our house, but his books are in the living room, where I can access them easily, and where their presence calls to mind his presence in my life. Volumes of Will and Ariel Durant’s multi-volume History of Civilization are there, as are popular illustrated biographies of James I and of Queen Victoria, and Dostoyevski’s, Anna Karenina. There they sit like old friends, their pages intentionally pressed flat, waiting for a new and fresh reading, for a resurrection of the printed word and the resumption of relationship across time and the page. Right now I am reading his copy of War and Peace. I wish I had that old copy of Shirer’s Rise and Fall; I don’t know whatever became of it. These books are my friends, not only because of the friends now long deceased who put the words on the page, not only because of the many and varied friends that inhabit their pages, but also because of the friend I have found in a man I barely knew, but who will ever be close to my heart and close at hand in the gift of his library, my grandfather, Frank Graves.

c. 2010, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

"Prayers for Healing from the Anglican Tradition" - Now on Sale!

2010-01-09T08:17:00.005-05:00

I am very pleased to announce that my book, Prayers for Healing from the Anglican Tradition, is now on sale. It arrived at the Anglican Book Centre late in the day yesterday and people in the Toronto who are able to visit the store will see copies prominently displayed. For those further afield, copies can be ordered online from Augsburg Fortress Canada, the distributor (interested booksellers should also contact them as they are the trade distributor as well). The book is a collection of healing prayers found in authorized prayer books from around the Anglican Communion. Anglicans stand in a long tradition of common prayer, which is to say we pray out of our tradition (which is not a closed tradition but an open and growing one, with new prayers and liturgical texts constantly being developed). During my time as an Anglican bookseller I realized how difficult it was for the average person to find and collect all the various prayer books from around our wonderful Anglican Communion. I spent considerable time and effort acquiring various editions for the store in order to make them accessible to North American Anglicans. Around the same time I was invited to work with the Bishop (now Archbishop) of Toronto's Committee on Healing. In our training of lay people for the healing ministry (and ongoing conversation with clergy invovled in this ministry), we began to realize that we needed resource that would gather prayers from the Anglican tradition for both our clergy and lay ministers, alike. I took it upon myself to search out prayers from our tradition from these prayer books collected from far and wide and (with the gracious permission of the respective copyright holders) this collection of healing prayers is the result. The book is a handy little inexepensive pocket-sized book that will be useful for hospital or home visitation, or for those developing healing liturgies in the parish. The book begins with a theological introduction to the healing ministry, outlining broad understanding of healing prayer. The prayers themselves are divided into categories (collects, blessings, prayers for those facing chronic illness, before an operation, for a child, etc.). Each section is headed by pastoral rubrics and considerations on how the various prayers might be used. The book concludes with suggested psalms and readings. While this collection is derived from the Anglican tradition, I do hope that it will be of much benefit and use to those of other denominations as well, in particular our Lutheran brothers and sisters, with whom we are in full communion. I will be speaking this Sunday night (January 10, 2010, 7:30 p.m.) on the book at the Order of St. Luke meeting at St. Timothy's, Agincourt. I have several other events in the works (t.b.a. soon). If your parish or organization would like to host an event I would be privileged to attend.

I have created a website for the book: http://www.anglicanhealingprayer.wordpress.com/

Prayers for Healing from the Anglican Tradition
compiled by Daniel F. Graves
is published by the Anglican Book Centre (ABC Publishing),
distributed by Augsburg Fortress Canada,
and retails at $13.95 CDN + G.S.T.

"Christ was Born for This!" - A Reflection for Christmas, 2009

2009-12-24T14:00:00.002-05:00

Last Saturday night I drove to Peterborough to join in the Christmas festivities at a party thrown by my oldest and dearest friend and his family. The night air was crisp, the heater was on in the car and the radio was tuned to a classical music station that played heavenly versions of all the best-loved Christmas carols and sacred music of the season. The traffic was mercifully light and this made for a time of solitude, peace, and reflection.

As I traveled and hummed, and yes, sung along, I realized how deeply this music was embedded into my soul and the very core of my being. I don’t remember learning this music. I suppose it has always been a part of me. And then I realized that the music of Christmas is a metaphor, or perhaps more accurately, a sacrament of my faith. I don’t remember becoming a Christian. To be sure, while I have had moments of conversion and awakening throughout my life (gentle, though these have been), I have always been a Christian. On that journey to Peterborough, I realized so poignantly in the songs of Christmas that the song of faith has ever been upon my heart.

How good it was to be celebrating the Nativity of our Lord amongst friends.

We live in a multi-cultural and multi-faith world. I have often admired the cultural traditions and faith traditions of others. The world into which I was born was somewhat less tolerant than the world into which my children have been born, and I rejoice at the openness that we have now toward those who have different cultural and faith stories than my own. Our intentional openness can sometimes make us self-effacing about our own stories, though. There are times when I have witnessed the wondrous stories and traditions of other communities and felt that my own religio-cultural heritage was somewhat bland, less exciting, and even less legitimate in comparison. There are times when I am ashamed at what my culture (in the name of my religion) has done to some of these others cultures and religions. There are times when it can be difficult to hear the song of faith on my heart.

And yet, in an automobile on a modern highway, in the cold of the night, through the programming of a radio station owned, ironically (or suitably?), by man of the Jewish faith, the song of my faith surfaced once again. The song is perhaps most suitably expressed in the words of a carol I’m sure I never sang as a child, but whose words, have ever formed the song of my heart, “In Dulci Jubilo”, or Good Christian Men Rejoice (or the more politically correct modern equivalent, “Good Christians, all Rejoice”). I cannot recall when I learned this carol, but it was likely as an adult in the church choir. Yet, the carol clearly articulates the substance of our Christian song of faith.

Good Christians all, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice!
Listen now to what we say:
Jesus Christ is born today;
ox and ass before him bow and he is in the manger now!
Christ is born today;
Christ is born today!

Good Christians all, rejoice
with heart and soul and voice!
Hear the news of endless bliss:
Jesus Christ was born for this;
he has opened heaven’s door and we are blessed forever more!
Christ was born for this;
Christ was born for this.

“Good Christians all, rejoice
with heart and soul and voice!
Now ye need not fear the grave;
Jesus Christ was born to save;
come at his most gracious call to find salvation one and all!
Christ was born to save;
Christ was born to save.”

There are plenty of times when I do fear the grave. There are moments in the dark of a sleepless night when I lay awake and my faith fails me. There are moments when the darkness of death seems an empty abyss that cannot be overcome. There are moments when I look about me at the world and wonder if there is peace on earth, if there is any hope. There are moments when I look with shame upon the history of my culture and my church and wonder if there can be forgiveness for what we have done. I have my fearful moments. I have my moments of unbelief.

Yet, those dark moments cannot quell the song. He came to the world in the darkness of the night, at the darkest hour, and comes to us again and again when the darkness seems the most overpowering, and the eternal nothingness of death seems to have triumphed over heart and soul and voice. But last week, as the night fell and I drove toward the home of friend, it did not overwhelm me because an unquenchable song stirred in my heart. The door has not been slammed in our face, and the present and future are full of wondrous divine potential. Our Lord calls us into that life and we come. We shall not be crippled by the past, or fear the future, or be frightened by the grave -- this is what Christ was born for. In his most gracious call, his song becomes our song and salvation comes to one and all.

This is cause for celebration. When the Christian faith and life seem to have lost their lustre and we wonder why we gather this special night when so much seems wrong with the world (and when our culture and faith seem culpable in so much of the wrong) let us take a moment of quiet in the stillness of the night and ponder for a moment that newborn king who changes you and changes me into his image and likeness. Love incarnate.

To my friends of other faiths who celebrate festivals at this and other times of the year I wish you every blessing and peace, but at this moment, I sing my song of faith without shame or fear because that song makes me who I am, shapes who I am becoming, and gives me hope for a broken world. Christ has indeed opened every door, let us go forth boldly to meet him and believe in the kingdom that he brings, after all, “Christ was born for this!”

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Justice and Righteousness; Comfort and Joy

2009-11-27T14:45:00.004-05:00

A Reflection for Advent 2009

“In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.”
-- Jeremiah 33:15 (First Lesson for the First Sunday of Advent, Year C)

“Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”
-- Luke 2:10 (Gospel for Christmas Eve)

This Sunday begins our Advent journey to the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord. We could be forgiven for thinking that Christmas has already arrived, after all Santa Claus has. As children, my brother Tim and I enjoyed our childhood ritual of lying on the floor with all three of the Eaton’s, Simpson’s, and Sears’ catalogues and pouring over the toy sections imagining what gifts Santa would leave under the tree. In those days we always had a real tree so it tended to go up later than most artificial trees do today, yet, we began to sense Christmas was in the air sometime in mid-November when those catalogues seemed to arrive. My mother had a wonderful stack of l.p. records (remember them?) that we would place on the record player. The records would drop and we would, in turn, listen to Perry Como, Eddy Arnold, Bing Crosby, Catherine McKinnon, and Percy Faith, amongst others, playing and singing all our favourite carols and popular Christmas songs. By mid-December the tree would be up, the house decorated, and special candles (I remember one in the shape of Santa Claus) would be lit. We would turn the lights down low, listen to those carols, and often host friends and neighbours for Christmas fellowship and cheer. Tidings of comfort and joy were heard from the hi-fi stereo.

I never thought much about justice and righteousness in the land in those days.

We never had much sense of an Advent season, at least in the “liturgical” sense of the word. Sure, there was waiting. The slow unfolding of the season, from the department store catalogues, to the l.p. records, to the mid-December decorating of the tree, and finally the shaking of the presents in the week leading up to Christmas all attest to this reality. The final piece of waiting was attendance at the Christmas Eve service. I later learned that this is the actual celebration of Christmas itself, yet for us, it was one last piece of waiting for the real deal – Christmas morning. Our waiting was a good and joyful thing. Never once do I recall us focusing on the apocalyptic themes that characterize our Advent readings in the Church, and never once did I ever have any sense that the time leading up to Christmas was supposed to be penitential (it was supposed to be just that in the Church in those days – we have since let go of this particular theme). Rather, it was all about waiting joyfully for an even more joyful day. Christmas was a long season that started in November and found its fulfillment on December 25th. In our world, its culmination was a two-day feast, as my maternal grandmother invariably held a special dinner on Boxing Day.

I must say that this season holds such wonderful memories for the three of us Graves boys, and reminds me of all that was good and wonderful about our childhood. To this day, when I walk through a mall and hear one of those Perry Como or Eddy Arnold recordings playing, I know every note and nuance of the recording and it evokes such a joyous remembrance of a wonderful time of my life. I am filled with comfort and joy.

We have a tendency in the Church to berate and condemn the secular celebration of Christmas and its long, commercial lead-up. And while I understand the good reasons for doing so, lest we forget the reason for the season, I must confess that my own experience of Advent and Christmas with the modern secular trappings did nothing to dampen the wonder and awe I experience each year as we enter into this time. Even as a young child, I seemed to somehow instinctively know that the presents, the popular songs, the Santa Claus decorations, were all festivities that celebrated a deeper more profound reality, namely, that God in Christ comes among us. I always knew what it was about. And yes, in spite the fact that catalogues were on the floor in November, and “candles in the window and carols at the spinet” in early December, we were still waiting – oh, the waiting! The interminable waiting! But, oh the joy we knew.

What I have learned as an adult, as a Christian, as priest in the Church, is that the Incarnation of Our Lord is about so much more than my joy and my family’s comfort and joy. I now know that the gift of the Christ Child, so gentle and mild, is also the gift of the Crucified and Risen Lord, who comes to set the prisoners free, give sight to the blind, hope to the fainthearted, and finally burst the bonds of death. I now know that the Incarnation of Our Lord is about justice and peace for an unfair and troubled world. I now know that the tidings of comfort and joy are the announcement and proclamation of the righteousness of God.

As a child, I did not know poverty or sadness. I did not know what injustice was. I did not feel the bleak mid-winter of loneliness known by so many. What my brothers and I knew was comfort and joy.

What I know now is that many do not know these things. What I realize now is that the Church gives us the season of Advent to hold before us the reality that there are those who yet experience injustice, whose hearts are freshly broken, who know not the comfort of a loving family. And to this reality the Church in Advent proclaims words of hope, fierce words of hope, that the order of the cosmos will be upset and justice will come to the oppressed. Waiting was for us, as children, a joy. For many it is a time of tragedy and fear. The Church in Advent proclaims Good News to all people. I understand that now. It is a kingdom in which I want to live and a kingdom I long to see extended to all of God’s children. It is a message I long to proclaim again and again until my dying breath: justice and righteousness in the land!

I do not regret the secular Advents and Christmases of my youth nor do I begrudge them to others. The gift of comfort and joy that I knew and continue to recall each year was a holy gift from God. I learned to wait, I learned to hope, I learned to celebrate. There are many for whom waiting and hoping never give way to celebration. Yet, it need not be so; for again this year a Branch shoots forth from the stump of Jesse. In word and deed we can bring tidings of comfort and joy to those who know it not. May our waiting, longing, praying and hoping, lead us into the action of carrying the Christ child into the darkest corners of this hurting world.

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Gospel of Luke Challenge - Part 3

2009-10-23T11:29:00.005-04:00

The Canticles (Introduction and the Benedictus)

A unique feature of the infancy narrative of Luke’s Gospel is the inclusion of three canticles, or songs, that have subsequently become a beloved part of Christian hymnody. The Benedictus (the Song of Zechariah), Magnificat (The Song of Mary), and Nunc Dimittis (The Song of Simeon), the traditional names ascribed to them based on their open lines in the latin text, are sung in liturgical churches as part of the Daily Office liturgy. In our own Anglican tradition, the Benedictus is the culminating canticle in Mattins (Morning Prayer), the Magnificat is the first canticle of Evensong (Evening Prayer) and the Nunc is the final canticle of Evensong. The Nunc is also used in Compline (Night Prayer) and often sung at the conclusion of funerals.

Much has been written as to whether Luke composed these canticles or whether he drew on traditional material and spliced them into his birth narratives of John and Jesus. We have no way of knowing if the individuals in this story (Zechariah, Mary and Simeon, respectively) actually composed or sung these words. Were they amongst the first Christian hymns, or were they well known Jewish songs that took on new meaning in the light of the coming of Jesus? Did Luke take traditional material and place it on the lips of these three individuals, or did he write the hymns himself? We can really only theorize about any of these conclusions. What is clear is that each of the hymns serve to advance the themes of the larger narrative and that each of the hymns contain elements that resonate with the themes of the Gospel of Luke. Again, did Luke choose them because they reflected his message or did he create them to underscore his message? We cannot know for sure, and I do not think it really matters, for what is important is the message.

This week, we will be discussing “The Benedictus” (Luke 1:68-79)

When old Zechariah (the father of John the Baptist) learned that his aged wife Elizabeth was to give birth, he had some doubts. Because of these doubts he was struck dumb until his wife gave birth. After the birth, Zechariah regained his voice and named the child John and then with his restored voice Luke tells us that Zechariah “was filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke this prophecy:

‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favourably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty saviour for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors,
and has remembered his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham,
to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies,
might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness
before him all our days.
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people
by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.’ "

The first thing we notice is that the hymn opens with a blessing of God, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,” this is a typical form of Jewish thanksgiving prayer and still exists to this day in the Jewish liturgy (for example, The Eighteen Benedictions, and see also the parallels in our own tradition, like the Eucharistic prayer, itself). The story of Jesus is once again firmly rooted in Jewish salvation-history through the genre of Jewish thanksgiving prayer.

We also note that Luke characterizes these words a “prophecy.” Implicit in this statement is the role of the Spirit of God, who gives voice to the once-mute Zechariah. The first words he offers up are words of divine revelation, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit --words of prophecy.

Although this hymn never uses the word “messiah”, but rather the term saviour (Greek “soter” which was often applied to invading kings in the Greek world), it is clearly a messianic prophecy because of the reference to a saviour coming from the House of David. This, he adds, is the fulfillment of former prophecies spoken by the prophets of old. To this is added the theme of God’s faithfulness in that God has not abandoned the covenant he made with his people, and yet, at the same time something new is happening, the covenant is coming to fulfillment. The consequence of this fulfillment will be rescue from our foes, perfect service of God, and a life of holiness without fear.

The focus then shifts to “the child who will be called prophet of the most high,” namely, John the Baptist. If this hymn circulated prior to early Christianity in early Judaism, it has certainly been appropriated in the context to refer to John as the one who “goes before the Lord to prepare his way.” This is a clear reference to the prophecy in Isaiah 40, “the voice of one crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord!” Thus, the hymn proclaims that in the birth of the child John, the old prophecies are coming to fulfillment and that we are at a new and unique point in history.

Finally, the hymn culminates with the role of John, which is to announce the salvation which comes from the Lord through the forgiveness of sins (this is why in 3:3 John is later characterized as baptizing for the forgiveness of sins). The hymn also praises the mercy and tenderness of God in offering this salvation (in contrast to his implicit wrath and condemnation of the unrighteous as is often found in ancient Jewish messianic thought). Then follows the proclamation, “The dawn from on high shall break upon us,” which may be a reference to the “Sun of Righteousness” with healing in his wings found in Malachi 4:2 (remember that “healing” and “salvation” are the same Greek word!). That light, that new dawn, gives light “to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. This is likely a reference to the “people who walked in darkness” in Isaiah 9 (and possibly even a reference to the 23rd Psalm). This is taken to be the Jewish nation under oppression, but one might ask if it might also refer in this context to the gentiles. The Jewish prophetic literature often forsees a time when the gentiles will be gathered into the kingdom of God, consider for example Isaiah 60 in which, “the gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brighteness of thy rising.” I am convinced that we see an allusion here to this text as well.

Importantly, not only does this hymn expound all of these key themes, it functions in the narrative as a personal a personal shift from non-believing to believing for Zechariah. Even though he was a holy priest, he still required a conversion. He needed to have his eyes opened to what God was doing and to realize the importance of this moment in salvation history. The hymn is his profession of belief that the culmination of the prophecies of old is about to take place.

Next: Week - The Magnifcat

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Gospel of Luke Challenge - Part 2

2009-10-09T14:39:00.001-04:00

The Infancy Narratives of John the Baptist and Jesus.

There is much that can be said about the infancy narratives of John the Baptist and Jesus in the Gospel of Luke. The Lukan infancy narrative is quite different from the only other canonical account, the one found in Matthew’s Gospel. As I have already indicated, Luke includes an account of the birth not only of Jesus, but also of John the Baptist. In both Matthew and Luke’s accounts, there is a touching of heaven and earth in the various angelic visitations, but whereas Matthew’s angels appear only in dreams (announcing to Joseph not only the birth of Jesus but the need to flee into Egypt, and later to return to Judea; and also the warning to the wise men in a dream to return home by another road), in Luke’s Gospel the angels appear directly to individuals in the narrative (to Zechariah, to Mary, and to “shepherds abiding in the fields”). In Matthew’s Gospel the events focus around Joseph, Herod and the Magi (likely played out over the period of a couple of years), with Mary as a much more marginal figure, while in Luke’s Gospel Mary is central to the entire narrative as is her relationship with Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist. In Luke we see no mention of foreign wise men or magi, but rather traditional figures rooted solidly in the Jewish religious milieu of the day, namely Zechariah the priest, Simeon the wise holy man, and Anna the prophetess. Both narratives firmly root the birth of Jesus in historical, but quite different moments. For Matthew, the birth occurs in the context of the rule of Herod the Great and indeed, Herod is a key player in the narrative (and is behind the slaughter of the innocents, which is absent in Luke), while in Luke, the birth occurs in the context of a Roman census in the time that “Quirinius was governor of Syria.” Furthermore, Luke’s narrative contains a series of canticles or songs that are completely absent from Matthew’s version. And while both texts include a genealogy of Jesus, Matthew uses his to preface his entire narrative, while Luke employs an entirely different genealogical lineage and places it after the infancy narrative as a sort of preface to Jesus’ adult ministry.

This short enumeration of some of the key differences reminds us how difficult a task it is to conflate the two accounts, as Christmas pageants, cantatas and crèches have tried to do for centuries. Each narrative has its own integrity and seeks to underscore key themes in each gospel. I have named some of the key differences; there are many others of a smaller but equally important nature. The question for us, though, is what do these differences tell us about Luke’s story of Jesus? We have not the time to examine each of these particular differences, but let us take a closer look at Luke’s decision to include the birth of John the Baptist into his infancy narrative.

Luke is at once firmly rooting his story in the Jewish tradition from which it emerged and at the same time eager to demonstrate that something very unique has occurred in the birth of Jesus. By incorporating the birth of John the Baptist into the narrative Luke is able to introduce a character that operates clearly in the tradition of the prophets of old. His birth is announced in the same way that the births of Isaac and Ishmael are announced in Genesis. And the birth of Jesus, too, is announced in this way, but there are some significant differences. While the angel certainly announces the greatness and the righteousness of John to Zechariah, and while he proclaims that the Spirit will indeed lead John, John is to be understood as an Elijah-figure. He is analogous to one of the old-time prophets who proclaims the coming of the Lord and leads people to God. On the other hand, the angel proclaims that Jesus will “be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” There is a clear distinction in roles here. Jesus is himself a son of God who will sit on the throne of David. This is clear messianic language. Thus, where John announces God’s coming as a prophet (and prepares people for it), Jesus inaugurates God’s never-ending reign, the restoration of Israel, as the Davidic messiah.

Both births are miraculous, one to an older barren woman (as per Sarah in Genesis), and one to a younger woman, a virgin. Neither should be having children, but both do, and both scandalous pregnancies are a gift from God, thus introducing a key Lucan theme, namely, that God turns the expected order on its head. This is a theme we shall return to in future installments and a theme we shall see again and again: Go turns the scandalous into a means of his grace. We might also wonder if the older woman represents life new life and hope being birthed from the age-old religion, and the younger woman is a metaphor for the unending fertility of God’s love. While the ages of the women stand in contrast to each other, we must remember that Mary seeks out Elizabeth for wisdom, support, nurturing and guidance. Their lives and stories are inseparably woven together, as will be the lives of their children. Their kinship is divine and their friendship holy. Perhaps their holy partnership has something to say to modern Jewish-Christian interfaith dialogue.

Both births are announced by angels under the Old Testament pattern to which I alluded earlier in the angelic announcements of the births of Isaac and Ishmael, namely, 1) the appearance of an angel, 2) fear on the part of the one to whom the angel is appearing, 3) the message (often with the admonition not to fear), 4) the objection of the hearer, and 5) a sign to verify the announcement (note also that the angelic visitation to the shepherds follows this pattern). However, an important difference exists between the announcement to Zechariah and the announcement to Mary. Zechariah’s unbelief is punished when his is struck dumb, while Mary’s unbelief turns from “How can this be?” to “Here I am, Lord,” the same words of young Samuel at his call! It should also be noted that again we see here the tendency in the Lukan narrative to turn power on its head – Zechariah, a priest of the establishment is struck dumb, while the vulnerable Mary is given voice. Perhaps here is some sense of the age-old conflict between the skepticism of age experience as opposed to the innocent enthusiasm of youth. Perhaps there is a lesson for today’s Chruch in Zechariah’s cautious institutional response and Mary’s vulnerable but enthusiastic, “yes.”

It is also worth noting that the Holy Spirit figures prominently in both facets of this story. In Luke’s storytelling, mention of the Spirit is often accompanied by the word “power.” Thus, John will announce the coming of the Lord, “with the spirit and power of Elijah” (This might be read simply as “Elijah’s spirit,” but typically prophets are seen as operating under the Spirit of God). For Mary, it is “the Holy Spirit (that) will come upon her and the power of the Most high will overshadow her.” Then, when Elizabeth sees Mary come to greet her, her child leaps in her womb and Elizabeth becomes filled with the Holy Spirit. When Zechariah’s voice finally returns, the Holy Spirit to moves him to song as he blesses God. When John is born “he grew and became strong in spirit.” Later as Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the Temple, they meet the wise man Simeon and we are told that “the Holy Spirit rested on him,” and further, “that guided by the Spirit,” Simeon had come into the Temple. Thus, the events of the narrative are linked carefully together by references to the Spirit of God who actually seems to be guiding the narrative as a piece of sacred history.

In all of these details we see profound continuity in the infancy narrative with the history of the people of Israel, and yet, through the power of the Holy Spirit an in the announcement of angelic messengers, we learn that God is doing a new thing. In the midst of a people expecting God to act in history there are many surprises in store.

Next week: More expectation and surprise as we look at the canticles of the Infancy Narrative.

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

A Letter to the Premier of Ontario

2009-10-09T12:40:00.002-04:00

On Wednesday, our bishop, The Rt. Rev. Colin Johnson, took out a full-page ad in the Toronto Star asking Anglicans to write to the Premier of Ontario, Dalton McGuinty, urging the provincial government to immediately implement a $100.00 Healthy Food Supplement for those in our neighbourhoods who live on social assistance. I would encourage readers of this blog to read Bishop Johnson's words and consider sending a letter to the premier. The following is the text of my own letter to the premier:

Dear Premier McGuinty:

I write as a priest of the Anglican Church of Canada in the Diocese of Toronto to add my voice the growing number of Anglicans (and others) who are calling upon the provincial government to immediately implement a $100.00 healthy food supplement to assist low income individuals and families that live amongst us. As a priest in one of the GTA's wealthiest neighbourhoods, I know that poverty can so easily remain hidden. In the midst of great affluence poverty can be a source of extreme shame and isolation. The heart of the Christian Gospel is the proclamation of Good News to the poor. I am proud to say that our parish community continues to support local food bank initiatives as one way of attempting to live out this calling.

Your government has, in the past, demonstrated itself be a government concerned with dignity and justice for all Ontarians. I do hope that your government will embrace this opportunity to continue to proclaim good news to the poor in word and deed, that during this Thanksgiving season we will indeed have much cause to give thanks to God.

I remain,
Yours in Christ,

The Rev. Daniel F. Graves (www.danielgraves.ca)
Associate Priest, Holy Trinity Anglican Church,
140 Brooke Street, Thornhill, ON L4J 1Y9
tel: (905) 889-5931, ext. 23; email: dgraves@htcthornhill.on.ca
www.holytrinitythornhill.on.ca

The Gospel of Luke Challenge - Part 1

2009-09-25T11:12:00.001-04:00

Starting at the Beginning: The Dedicatory Preface

St. Luke’s Gospel begins with a short dedicatory preface, which it might be easy to skip over as we move into the interesting words of the infancy narratives of John the Baptist and Jesus. However, I suggest that we will miss something very important if we make such a premature leap, for the opening prologue tells us some very important things about the purpose of Luke’s writings and why he chooses to set out the story of Jesus as he does.

First and foremost we realize that Luke is probably writing under the patronage of a benefactor. In ancient times (as in the present day), it is no small thing to devote the time and energy to write a book. Where we have scholarly and artistic grants or literary prizes, the ancients relied on wealthy patrons. Luke addresses his work to one named Theophilus (his name literally means “one who loves God,” probably not a real name, but one assumed at baptism). We do not know who this person was but as we have other ancient parallels (such as the Jewish historian Josephus, who addresses certain works to his patron Epaphroditus), we can easily recognize the literary convention that Luke employs, namely dedicating his work to the patron in the opening paragraph of the book. What does this mean? In theory, Theophilus would become the owner of the work and he could have it copied (hand copied, of course – another costly endeavour), sold to other wealthy people, deposited it at a library, or traded copies of it for other works of literature with other patrons. It may also have been that Theophilus was a patron of a house church and was commissioning the work to be read “in Church.” These are simply educated guesses on how the text might have been used or circulated based on what we know of the writing and dissemination of other ancient texts. Importantly, this dedicatory preface sets the work apart from the other gospels, which have no such dedication. This opens the age-old question of genre. Does the Gospel of Luke represent the same genre as the others gospels? What is Luke’s self-understanding about the genre he was writing? At least in terms of the style of the preface, he seems to be clearly emulating the style of ancient “history writing.” The reader or hearer of this text would certainly recognize that Luke is setting himself up as a Josephus, Thucydides or Herodotus, who all wrote significant multi-volume historical works.

This brings us to a second point; Luke’s work is indeed a two-volume affair. While it is certainly not a multi-volume work of the scope of the above-mentioned authors, he does seem to have a grand historical purpose in mind. He followed up this first volume (the story of Jesus) with the book of Acts (the story of the Earl Church), which has a similar dedicatory preface. Turn to the book of Acts and consider some of the similarities and differences in their respective prefaces.

The third point: Like all ancient historians, Luke draws on a variety of sources. As I noted in my introduction last week, scholars have done a lot of work to try and sort out his sources. Luke makes no bones about the fact that he used sources. He says boldly

“Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitness and servants of the word, I too decided, after fully investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus.”

Luke is not denigrating the other attempts at writing the story of Jesus and the Church, rather he is arguing that as a historian he has access to several source materials and that he will thus employ his historian’s craft to make a fuller orderly account, taking into consideration all the material at his disposal. It should also be remembered that, in general , the ancient historian was less concerned about “fact” and more concerned about “truth.” Thus, the ancient historian wrote with a thesis (or a truth) they wanted to prove and used the available “data” that was amenable to proving their thesis.

This brings us to the fourth point, Luke’s purpose in writing. Having stated that he has gathered previous material and traditions to create a new “orderly account,” he then delivers his purpose in doing so, “So that you (Theophilus) may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.” What is that truth? Well, like any good writer, Luke is not going to deliver all the goods up front. This is the literary hook to keep reading. It is clear that whoever Theophilus was, he had received some instruction in the faith. We do not know what that was, but we do know that Luke believes there is more to be said, and most importantly, that amidst all the details of what Theophilus knows, there is much truth to be garnered from the sorting out of the facts and data of the story of Jesus. We expect, therefore, that Luke is going to put the material together in such a way that some new insight, some divine insight, into Jesus will be revealed.

What will that be? That is the story we wish to unfold in the weeks ahead.

Next: The infancy narratives of John the Baptist and Jesus!

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Gospel of Luke Challenge - Introduction

2009-09-17T20:44:00.002-04:00

A New Weekly Online Study:

Last year, I hosted a successful online study of the Gospel of Mark, entitled The Gospel of Mark Challenge. As we prepare to move into Year C in late November (the liturgical year in which St. Luke’s Gospel is read), I felt it might be appropriate to host a sequel to last year’s challenge. The first aspect of “The Challenge” was to read a half chapter of the Gospel of Mark each day. The Gospel According to St. Mark is only sixteen chapters long, whereas St. Luke’s is twenty-four chapters. I suppose this means that this year’s challenge will require a bit more persistence than last year’s. That being said, at a the rate of about a half chapter per day, one could read through the entire Gospel of Luke in forty-eight days – a little longer than a month and a half.

The second aspect of “The Challenge” is to read the text as part of a discipline of prayer and devotion. Last year, I suggested using a form of the Daily Office such as Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer, or Compline (Night Prayer). I have linked to some resources on the side of this page that may assist you in this way, and of course, you can always use your Book of Common Prayer or Book of Alternative Services if you have one at home.

So this is the challenge -- to read and pray through The Gospel of Luke in the months ahead. In order to support each of you in this challenge, I will be posting a regular Friday reflection in which I comment on a passage that interests me that illustrates some of the key themes in the gospel text. Last year, various individuals wrote to me asking me to comment on particular texts that seemed difficult. I am happy to do so again and encourage you to do so (this is my challenge!).

You are also invited to post comments on the blog. You do not have to have a blogger account to do so – simply click on the “comment” link and sign on as “anonymous.” It would be helpful to type your name at the bottom of the comment, but you are not obliged to do so. You may also send me private emails. I look forward to your responses! Your responses help make this online study more lively and fruitful.

A Bit About the Gospel of Luke:

In order to kick things off, I want to make a few general comments about The Gospel of Luke. These thoughts are not original, but rather culled from my own ongoing reading of Luke and much secondary literature.

Luke is widely considered to have been written in the last decade of the first century (as he has knowledge of the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in AD 70). Like the rest of the New Testament, the original language of the book is Greek and Luke’s Greek is of the most elevated sort that we find in the New Testament. The Gospel is actually the first part of a two-volume series, the second installment being the Book of Acts (Part one, the Gospel, tell us the story of Jesus, while part two, Acts, tell us the story of the Early Church). We may be inclined to ask, who was “Luke?” He may have been the “Luke the Physician” that we learn about from Acts and also from Paul, but this is disputed. It was not uncommon for writers to write under a respected pseudonym in those days. In any event, it is not likely that the author was an eyewitness of Jesus. Where, then, did he get his material? It seems clear to most scholars that Luke used Mark’s Gospel as a source as we find much direct "lifiting" of his Mark's material. Luke also shares with Matthew a considerable amount of material, often verbatim with subtle changes, that is not found in Mark. Thus, it is concluded that and Matthew may have drawn on a now lost source, which scholars call “Q” (from the German quelle – meaning “source”) which is postulated to be a “sayings” collection based on the kind of shared material found in Matthew and Luke. However, a small group of scholars (and I am more and more inclined to agree with them) argue that Luke used both Mark and Matthew as sources, thus eliminating the need to postulate a “lost gospel” theory. (For a good review of these scholarly arguments visit Mark Goodacre’s Case Against Q website. I do also commend his excellent podcasts – more on these in future installments).

Key Themes in the Gospel of Luke:

The following is a list several key themes and concepts that are widely accepted as major aspects of the Lucan Narrative. The list (a summary of: Joseph Fitzmyer S.J., The Gospel According to Luke I-X, Anchor Bible 28, New York: Doubleday, 1982– p. 145), is not comprehensive but provides a useful starting point for us. As you read through the Gospel of Luke, consider some of these themes and the questions they raise.

1. The Lukan kerygma (Greek for “proclamation,” and by this we mean proclamation both by and about Jesus) in Luke/Acts takes a particular form. See if you can recognize the unique nature of Luke’s proclamation by and about Jesus. Hint: consider to whom the words of Jesus are directed and what the Early Church’s preaching about Jesus does to upset the world order.

2. Luke draws on his source material (Mark’s Gospel, and other possible sources, either a “sayings of Jesus” source, or Matthew’s Gospel) in a way that advances the particular themes of his own narrative. As we examine key passages, use a tool called a “Gospel Parallel” or simply compare parallel passages in Mark and Matthew to see how Luke handles the same episode. What does Luke’s unique handling of the episode tell us about the story of Jesus he wishes to communicate?

3. Geography is crucial to theological message – throughout the Gospel the narrative moves geographically toward Jerusalem, whereas in Acts it moves outward from Jerusalem to Rome (to the “ends of the earth”). Consider what this geographical movement says about the proclamation of the Gospel, from Luke’s perspective.

4. Christ in History – Luke roots the “Christ-event” in history as a means to illustrate the inauguration of a new era of human history. What is the meaning of the new era coming into being? How does it relate to the previous era? How does Luke establish the “Christ-event” in time and space?

5. Christology – Luke has invests particular meaning in the titles he uses for Jesus, especially with respect to salvation history. What are some of Luke’s titles for Jesus? What do these titles say about the meaning of Jesus for Luke?

6. Role of the Holy Spirit – Luke has a very unique role for the Holy Spirit in Luke/Acts, especially with respect to conversion and baptism. Pay special attention to references of to the Holy Spirit throughout Luke and Acts. Consider the role of the Spirit as a character in the narrative.

7. Eschatology (concern for the end-times) – As Luke’s Gospel was written toward the end of the first century, he has to deal with what scholars call “the delay of the parousia” (second coming/return of Christ). Observe what Luke does and does not say about the end-times, in comparison with the other gospels.

There is much to think about here as we begin our journey into St. Luke. These are but a few of the keythemes in his story of Jesus; we could (and in the installments ahead, will) add many more themes and strands. At this point, it might be easy to feel overwhelmed at all of these things to consider. In the weeks ahead we will walk through some interesting passages in the Gospel and I will draw your attention to recurring themes, patterns and ideas. The above themes are mentioned only to provide you with a bit of a guide of what to watch for as you read through the text. So as you read, think of things like the role of geography in the story; the role of the Holy Spirit; talk about the end times (and the delay of the end times); the titles applied to Jesus; and think of comparing familiar passages in Luke to parallels in Mark and Matthew and see how Luke tells the story a little differently. Each of these things will prompt questions about “why did Luke tell it this way?” I believe that as we journey together, examining some of these questions in Luke's Gospel and their possible answers, a portrait of Jesus will emerge that can still enliven our faith today.

"Coming Attractions!"

2009-09-16T11:06:00.005-04:00

As October approaches, I realize that this blog, Reflections of a Canadian Churchman, will soon be two years old. When I began writing online, I had only a small idea of what I wanted this blog to be about. It seemed clear to me that a blog could be used as an outreach tool to connect with those in the parish family on both a broader and deeper level. Since then I have begun to realize that a site operates in two ways. The first way is as a tool of communication. Thus, I have used this site (and its sister sites - Sermons of a Canadian Churchman and Book Reviews of a Canadian Churchman) to communicate information, or more precisely, to proclaim the Christian message. This was always the primary goal in writing these online reflections and in posting my homilies. What emerged, though, was the discovery of another function of such a site, the building of relationships. Through this site I have had the opportunity to get to know, converse with (and yes even argue with), and to form meaningful relationships with many individuals whom I have never met. It has also been a means for reconnecting with others who now live far and wide; it has been an opportunity to connect at another level with the parish family; and finally it is a means to connect with those who, for whatever reason, cannot be present amongst the rest of the faithul for corporate worship on Sunday mornings.

I think this latter point is crucial. I have heard again and again from many readers that they find it very helpful to read a homily, a reflection, or an online study when it is just impossible to get to church. Many are traveling as the result of work or the new-found freedom of retirement, some are prohibited because of age or disability, others have felt hurt by the church and feel estranged and unable to return to the community, still others are in an emotionally difficult place and would rather "be apart" for awhile. Whatever the case, we all long for connection, and I am pleased that this site has helped people feel connected with God and with the Church as they travel along on their faith journey. Some people post responses on the site, many others send me personal messages. I treasure each one of them and the relationship that goes with words expressed, for in the midst of the written and spoken word is the Word made flesh, Jesus our Lord.

My original intent had been to post about once a week on this blog. I quickly realized that this was probably not realistic. I also wanted to post my homilies, so I opened another blog, Sermons of a Canadian Churchman. Later I added a third blog, Book Reviews of a Canadian Churchman. As I now look back on forty-one posts on the Reflections blog, sixty-six on the Sermons blog, and four on the Book Reviews blog, I realize that 111 posts in under just two years is slightly more than once a week, so I guess I have met my goal after all.

And so, as I approach the end of my second year of blogging, I thought I would offer some "coming attractions" for the months ahead for the three blogs.

Reflections of a Canadian Churchman
This site will continue to feature my occasional thoughts and reflections on topics in the life of the Church or issues that emerge in my own reading of Scripture or study of theology. It is also a place to address questions that readers send in. Last year's online study The Gospel of Mark Challenge was a great success, and so beginning this Friday, I will be posting the introduction of a new series, The Gospel of Luke Challenge, which will be the focus of the Reflections site throughout the fall.

Sermons of a Canadian Churchman
As we move toward the end of the liturgical year, I will continue to focus my preaching on St. Mark's Gospel. It is my hope that these homilies, as well as last year's thoughts on Mark from my Reflections blog, will form the core of a new book. As we move into Year B in late November, I will preach on St. Luke whenever possible.

Book Reviews by a Canadian Churchman
This page is dedicated to reviews of books either by Canadian authors or from Canadian presses on books of a spiritual, religious, ecclesiastical or theological nature. The next book for review will be Canadian sociologist Reg Bibby's new book on the so-called "Millennial Generation." If you know of a book you think should be reviewed or are an author or publisher interested in sending a review copy, my contact information can be found on the Book Reviews page (see link in right-hand sidebar).

Finally, thank you to all of you who have faithfully followed this blog and read my homiles & reviews over the past two years. I have been blessed that you have let me share my thoughts and reflections with you, but even more profoundly blessed by the conversation and reflection you have shared with me. My prayers are with you as we continue down the road together.

Fr. Dan Graves
Feast of St. Ninian, 2009.

Come Down, O Love Divine – A Reflection on a Prayer to the Holy Spirit

2009-08-24T16:56:00.003-04:00

“Pray to the Holy Spirit, Daniel,” were the sage words were offered to me by a dear friend and mentor, the late Bishop Henry Hill. Interestingly enough, offering prayer to the Holy Spirit might not seem like the most natural thing to those of us raised in the Western Tradition, and particularly, within Anglicanism. Many of us were raised to think of prayer as to the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. Many of our collect prayers in the Anglican tradition honour this prepositional partitioning. Yet sometimes I wonder if this encourages an unintentional partitioning of the Godhead, and indeed, an unintentional ascription of the importance of one person of the divine Trinity over another. I have often sensed a kind of iconoclasm in certain trajectories of the Western Tradition, namely, a fear of articulating the notion of Christ as God in our prayer. He may be “Lord,” or “Son,” but our prayer often lacks the boldness of that of our Orthodox brothers and sisters who unabashedly offer prayers to “Christ our God.” If we seem reserved about offering prayer to Christ our God, even more elusive are prayers to the Holy Spirit. Perhaps it is because the Spirit is more elusive as a “person” than the more readily identifiable “Father” and “Son.” Prayer to the Spirit, though, encourages to move beyond the masculine metaphors that are so limiting to many, and while the concept of the Holy Spirit includes much of the feminine divine, we are encouraged to move beyond even that and into the deep well of God in which all human gender and identity finds its loving birth. Prayer to the Spirit invites us into the depth of the ground of our being.

So, where are our prayers to the Holy Spirit? They do exist in our tradition, and while they may at first be hard to locate, I suggest that a fertile ground for exploration is our hymnody. Consider for example, the hymn that is sung at all ordinations (ordinations of all three orders - bishops, priests, and deacons) immediately preceding the consecration of the ordinand, the Veni Creator Spiritus: “Come Holy Ghost our Souls Inspire.” It is a hymn invoking the Holy Spirit to descend not only upon the ordinand, but also upon the whole people of God, that we might be transformed and conformed to the divine image. This is a powerful hymn to use devotionally. It is the sort of thing dear Bishop Hill heartily commended.

But my favourite hymn is the one authored by Bianco de Siena in the 14th century and translated in the 19th century by Richard Frederick Littledale, and set to the deeply mystical but melodic tune, Down Ampney, by Ralph Vaughan Williams, Come Down, O Love Divine. I, like many clerics before me, chose this hymn as the processional hymn at my ordination to the priesthood. It is a longing, beautiful prayer offered to the Holy Spirit. I can never pray it or sing it without feeling the Spirit softening my hardened heart with holy fire.

Come down, O Love divine,
seek thou this soul of mine,
and visit it with thine own ardour glowing;
O Comforter, draw near,
within my heart appear,
and kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

The first verse speaks to the supreme reality that God is Love, as written in 1 John. Whatever metaphor we choose to use about God, this is the metaphor that eclipses all others; and when we forget this fact and become consumed with remaking God in our own image, we must turn again and again to this truth, God is Love. God is the Love that seeks us out and searches us … and more precisely, seeks us out individually, “seek thou this soul of mine,” we long in our singing. What a remarkable, unfathomable thing: Love seeks me! As human beings we find ourselves, so often, feeling unlovable, rejected, and desolate. And yet! Love seeks me out! As love finds me, I know the presence of the Comforter. Traditionally this is a feminine image, but one that must be reclaimed at part of our full humanity, or men will ever remain emotionally and psychologically unrealized as human beings. As the comfort of divine love draws near to and into our hearts – hearts hardened by the pain of the world – these wounded hearts are kindled with the fire of divine love and something new and wonderful begins to burn with us: we become carriers of the divine flame, itself.

O let it freely burn,
till earthly passions turn,
to dust and ashes in it heat consuming;
and let thy glorious light
shine ever on my sight,
and clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

The language of divine exuberance begins to take over. The fire burns freely and consumes all the dark passions that lead to destructive behaviour. The Christian life is too often characterized as one in which the darker passions must be suppressed, but what is suppressed must eventually burst forth. In contrast, we sing and pray to the Spirit that consumes such darkness with the pure light and warmth of Holy Love and replaces it with divine illumination, divine insight. And as our interior is transformed so is our exterior, what burns inside becomes visible on the outside and lights the path in a way in which it was never so illumined before.

Let holy charity
mine outward vesture be,
and lowliness become mine inner clothing;
true lowliness of heart,
which takes the humbler part,
and o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.

But our outward vesture it not simply something of beauty to behold but is something beautiful to be shared – lovely, beautiful, generous caritas! Holy Charity is the vesture of the Fire of Love. When we say Love transforms the world this is what we mean. When one person has been sought out and found by Divine Love, the heavens and earth rejoice for creation meets its consummation! Divine action is met by human response, frail though it may be, reflecting the glory of God. Such light, and such love, constantly shine light into the dark places and illuminate them, allowing us to see with ever more clarity our own shortcomings and need of divine Love. Such clarity, such reflection, compels us to ask more fervently and more passionately that the fire may burn more deeply and more warmly within us that we might ever journey the road of divine transformation.

And so with yearning strong,
with which the soul will long,
shall far out-pass the power of human telling;
for none can guess its grace,
til they become the place
wherein the Holy Spirit finds a dwelling.

That yearning is not our yearning, but the yearning of the Holy Spirit that first gave us life, that enlivened us in Baptism, that goes with us all our days. It is the Spirit about which St. Paul speaks in Romans 8 that prays for us, through us, when we have not the words or language of our own, with sighs too deep for words. It is a divine yearning that is made our own, by the grace of God, that is beyond human voice and the frailty of human words. It is the longing of pure Love. The weeping heart is the longing embrace that divine Love seeks. Heart speaks to heart and the Holy Spirit finds its home.

Copyright 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express written permission of the author.

Come Down, O Love Divine
Text: Bianco de Siena (1350?-1434?), tr. Richard Frederick Littledale (1833-1890), alt.
Tune: Down Ampney, Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
(found in The Anglican Church of Canada, Common Praise, hymn 645)

Vision 2019: The Dreaming Continues

2009-06-19T15:08:00.004-04:00

Being involved in Vision 2019 has been an exciting experience here at Holy Trinity. As followers of this blog will know, our Primate, Archbishop Fred Hiltz, has asked Anglicans across the country to "Dream the Church." As the Anglican Church of Canada moves toward a strategic plan for the next ten years, the National Church has been solicting feedback from Anglicans across this great nation. A special website was set up where Anglicans could submit their dreams for the Church.

I was an ecclesiastical bureaucrat for eleven years and worked at the National Office (Church House), first at the old 600 Jarvis Street address and later at the newer office at 80 Hayden Street. Thus, I continue to have a passion for the ministry of the National Church and felt strongly that we at Holy Trinity should participate in the visioning process. In the early days of the project I was invited to participate in a short video outlining the ministry of the Anglican Church's publishing program, ABC Publishing.

As the Vision 2019 website came on online and the process of responding began, I eagerly followed the responses posted on the site. At first, there seemed to be many negative responses, especially by individuals who had left the Anglican Church of Canada to join the Province of the Southern Cone. The tone of many of the responses (and comments on the responses) seemed quite uncivil and contrary to the spirit of the exercise. I am not opposed to critical responses, but the tone in some of the responses was downright nasty and not characteristic of constructive dialogue. I responded and became involved in a little dispute with some individuals over how to conduct respectful dialogue (that little exchange, if you truly feel inclined to review it, can be found by clicking here). Thankfully, the spirit of the conversation quickly became much more civil and creative. Responses flooded in. Trinity Sunday was declared as "Vision 2019 Sunday" and parishes were asked to find creative ways of engaging the question, "Where is the church now and where do you want to see it in ten years' time?"

We began our work on this question on Pentecost Sunday when I preached a sermon on what it means to dream in the Spirit. I suggested that the exercise of dreaming was not so much about what we wanted for the Church, but what God wants for the Church and how our shared individual dreaming can come together in a way that we might discern the future into which we are being called. I then shared my dream for the Church (the text of the sermon can be read here).

The following Sunday (Trinity Sunday), our incumbent, Canon Greg Physick preached a fine sermon on the subject and spoke about our dreaming in the context of the that Sunday's theme.

Then, it was time for the people of Holy Trinity to dream. During the prayers of the people, we offered several minutes of silence in which people could, on a piece of paper provided, write (either anonymously or attaching their names) a prayer outlining their hopes and dreams for the church in the next decade. The prayers were collected on the collection plates and offered up at the offertory in prayer at the celebration of the Holy Eucharist. We explained that we would collate the prayers and send them in to the Vision 2019 website. The approach was simple and seemed to resonate with the Vision 2019 team at Church House and they featured our approach in an online story (click here).

As we reviewed the results we learned many things. There is a longing for the church to grow through the inclusion of young people. There is a longing bring the discussion of same-sex blessings to a close. There was a variety of positions on this question, including the traditional and progressive positions, but many focused broadly down the middle on a theology of inclusion. On the whole, there seemed to be a dream that our Church will be a light to the community and a place of hope, faithful to the Gospel of Christ. There is indeed hope for the future. To be sure, we sensed worry and uncertainty, but we did sense strong hope. The Vision 2019 team has posted Holy Trinity's prayers on the Vision 2019 site (click here).

What a wonderful exercise this has been for us at Holy Trinity. I believe that people felt very empowered and included in offering their personal prayers. And it is very powerful to see and feel these prayers joined with prayers of Anglicans across the country. We are grateful to Archbishop Hiltz for his invitation, it has had an impact on us and we hope and pray that our prayers will be helpful in the discernment process.

For those who have not yet participated, please add your voice and your prayers to the dreaming by visiting the Vision 2019 site.

Vision 2019: Dream the Church

2009-05-27T13:13:00.002-04:00

The Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada has recently invited Canadian Anglicans to participate in a visioning process. Anglicans across the country are encouraged to visit the Vision 2019 Website and submit their thoughts, reflections, dreams and longings about where we believe God is calling this Church to be over the next decade. Vision 2019 is grounded in the Five Marks of Mission, which include proclaiming the Good News of the Kingdom of God; teaching, baptizing and nurturing new believers; responding to human need by loving service; seeking to transform the unjust structures of society; safeguarding the integrity of creation. I encourage readers of this blog to visit the site (see link, above) and make their contribution either by sending a letter, audio recording, video or email. I will be preaching this upcoming Sunday (Pentecost) on themes related to Vision 2019.

I was pleased to participate on behalf of the work of the General Synod and provide this short video about the Anglican Church of Canada's publishing ministry, ABC Publishing (Anglican Book Centre).

Some Further Reflections on the Gospel of Mark

2009-05-08T15:47:00.002-04:00

Last fall, I wrote a series on this blog entitled The Gospel of Mark Challenge in which I challenged parishioners to read a half chapter of St. Mark’s Gospel each day, completing the Gospel in about a month. Along the way I commented on various passages of interest. Having since preached extensively on the Gospel of Mark (as we are currently in Year B in our three-year cycle of Scripture readings, the year in which St. Mark is read) I felt some summative comments might now be in order.

On Easter Day I preached on the Resurrection appearance in Mark 16:1-8, or more correctly, the “non-appearance,” for The Gospel of Mark is the only gospel without an appearance of the Risen Christ. Instead, it is characterized by an empty tomb and the flight of the frightened female disciples.

In my sermon, I argued that Mark intended this abrupt ending in order that we might write ourselves, and our own faithful witness to the Resurrection of Jesus, into the story. The abruptness of the ending, the apparent absence of the Risen Christ, and the fear of the women leaves us, who knew the story, to call into its pages “Christ is Risen, fear not!” We are left to complete the tale, to tell the story and its ending (or rather, its beginning) to others and to the world. In other words, we are called to be the witnesses that the story lacks. We are to write ourselves into the story. What is explicit in the texts of Matthew, Luke, and John, is for Mark, to be made explicit in our lives and witness.

I also argued that this literary ploy of Mark obviously worked because at least three other individuals or communities set to work at penning the “missing ending”. Check the footnotes of your Bible and you will see at least three attempts follow after verse 8 at completing the “unfinished” story (these are known as the “shorter ending”, “the longer ending” and the Freer Logion). These other individuals were moved in faith to tell the story of the Risen Christ, to witness his presence to the world.

It is sometimes argued that the Gospel ends so abruptly because the original ending was lost. I suggest to you, however, that it is only lost when we fail to tell the story of our faith.

As I have reflected further on the Gospel of Mark, I am convinced that this interpretation of Mark’s literary motive is the correct one, for it coheres with several other literary themes in the Gospel. Thus, I suggest that the overall Markan literary strategy is that we the readers/hearers are actually participants in the narrative.

Consider the ignorance (some would say stupidity) of the disciples who constantly do not understand either who Jesus is or what he is doing, how they ask for a high place in his kingdom, how they mistake him for another prophet. As readers/hearers we scratch our heads because we understand right from the outset of the story who Jesus is.

Consider the greater problem of what scholars call the Messianic Secret. Jesus is constantly telling people not to reveal him to the world or the authorities. The disciples still do not understand and his demons and adversaries often recognize him even when the disciples are continuously missing the point. We are gripped by the narrative irony.
Why? Because we know exactly who he is and are drawn into the tension out of our desire to proclaim his identity!

Consider the story of the Transfiguration. The disciples once again misunderstand this revelation and seek to make booths for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. They get it wrong once again, but we are crying out with the right answer. Why? Because he has already been transfigured before our eyes and in our hearts!

Consider the derision and mocking of Jesus on the Cross. Consider Peter’s denial and abandonment of his Lord. At each step of the passion narrative we hang our heads in shame. Why? Because we know precisely who is being crucified whereas the players of the story do not.

Throughout Mark’s story of Jesus we shout across the pages what we believe and what we understand where other fail to believe and where others fail to understand. This all coalesces in the words of the centurion at the foot of the cross, who in his profession of faith “Surely this man was the Son of God” gives voice to our profession of faith. It is a word that echoes the opening sentence of the Gospel “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The words “Son of God” are considered by many to be a later addition because they not widely attested in the early manuscripts. Yet, I suggest that they are likely authentic because they are congruous with the Mark’s narrative strategy, namely, that from the outset the reader/hearer knows who Jesus is, in contrast to the participants in the story. It is the proclamation we long to make at every step.

Thus, I suggest that Gospel was written not for an unbelieving community but rather to strengthen the witness of a believing community, that they might write themselves into the story in every place where the characters in the story fail in their proclamation of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Therefore, this is a Gospel for the Church today as much as any other time, for it is a Gospel into which we write ourselves so that at every frustrating turn, at every failure of the disciples, at every ironic misunderstanding, at every failed proclamation, at every denial, at every fleeing in terror, we can shout with joy, certainty and conviction, “he is Risen indeed! Alleluia!”

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

For previous installments of the Gospel of Mark Challenge:

Introduction
Part I: Follow Me
Part II: Who Are My Mother and My Brothers?
Part III: Lord I Believe, Help My Unbelief
Part IV: You Are Not Far From the Kingdom of God
Part V: Cursing the Fig Tree, Cleansing the Temple
Part VI: The Little Apocalypse

Being Polite -- the Newest Deadly Sin

2009-05-06T09:50:00.010-04:00

I recently got myself into a little hot water with some adherents of the ANiC (Anglican Network in Canada) for suggesting that we should use a little bit more civility as we explore the state of the Church.

Followers of this blog will know that I was invited earlier this year to participate in the Anglican Church of Canada's Vision 2019 project. The project, initiated by our Primate, the Most Rev. Fred Hiltz, seeks to explore where the church in Canada finds itself today and where we believe we are being called in the next ten years. This reflection revolves around the five marks of mission. I was interviewed for a short video highlighting work being done by the National Church (I spoke about the second mark of mission, Teaching, Baptizing and Nurturing New Believers, in light of the work of the Anglican Book Centre publishing programme). In addition, Anglicans across the country were invited to post comments on where they see the Church today and in the future.

As the feedback began to come in I noticed that a great deal of the early feedback was very negative and critical. Of course, it is important for the leaders of the Church to hear all feedback, positive or negative. However, several people began to resort to name-calling and caricature in a most unedifying manner. A study group from St. John the Divine in Victoria, BC posted an interesting report of a Lenten study they were doing with some good thoughts about social justice. A response was posted by Frank Wirrell, a regular commentator on the ANiC blog. Mr. Wirrell made the following response:

"The comments with respect to justice sound good but to thank the Primate is definitely stretching the truth. The lack of any justice toward orthodox parishes and Anglicans can only be described as the work of Satan. The writer should carefully examine his statement that we should get past the same-sex issues. That issue is simply the tip of the iceberg and demonstrates a complete rejection of God’s word. So-called bishops, including the Primate, that are prepared to claim they can bless same-sex unions are not only deceiving themselves but are deceiving and misleading those involved. Each of us has a tendency to sin in one area or another and that includes being involved in homosexual activity or adultery. Rather than endorsing any sin we need to honestly repent and not be led down the garden path by political expediency. If the Primate were honestly interested in justice he would order that all actions against orthodox parishes cease and that apostate bishops resign their positions."

Everyone has the right to their opinion and to post it, nor would be against anyone posting a legitimate theological critique of any theological position. However, name-calling does constitute a legitimate theological critique. Furthermore, I believe this project was offered to Canadian Anglicans with a measure of graciousness and a willingness to listen. I do believe graciousness should be met with graciousness. Thus, I responded:

"I find it disheartening that in an exercise that is intended for thebuilding up of the kingdom of God, we continue to see our bishops characterized in such derisive terms. The primate (and our other bishops) are not “so-called” bishops, they are bishops in the Church of God. Similarly, to toss around a term like apostasy is very unhelpful. The elevation of abusive language in these debates is not at all edifying. In my experience, our Primate has never been
anything but gracious. His invitation into this discussion and his willingness to listen to all voices has been most gracious. I hope that we as Canadian Anglicans would reciprocate with a similar graciousness that would be characterized in the tone of our language."

Mr. Wirrell responded, asking for some clarification.

"I have noted the response of Fr. Dan Graves and would ask what he finds offensive in my remarks. Clearly the time has come to call a spade a spade. Bishops, clergy and laity that deny the authority of Scripture and attempt to make such authority subject to a majority vote are apostates - politely but mistakenly called liberals. The Primate might well be gracious under some circumstances but his lack of action to deal with apostasy cannot be and should not be overlooked. Certainly he has not been gracious to orthodox Anglicans. To be a true Anglican one must first be a Christian and when you have so-called bishops proclaiming that all religions lead to the same place, action is mandatory to have them repent or remove them from office. You cannot build a church on sand but only on the Solid Rock. The Anglican Church of Canada is quickly losing its “right” to be called a church of God and needs to repent and turn back from the sin of political expediency."

It seems for Mr. Wirrell that as long as you are convinced and sure about something you can use whatever language you wish to villify your opponent. I maintained my original point and sought to clarify and restate it:

Although I never used the word “offensive” I do believe that I made very clear what I felt was unhelpful about your remarks. I am not aware that any of our bishops have been either tried for heresy or deposed. As much as I can determine, they are all in communion with the see of Canterbury (and even if they may be in a stated of impaired communion with some other bishops around the world, they are in full communion with brother and sister bishops of their own house). Thus, the bishops of our church are indeed true bishops in the Church of God, not “so-called” bishops or apostates. One is not simply an apostate because any given individual (or even group) declares it. Furthermore, being liberal(which you seem to imply is a sin of major proportion) does not automatically excommunicate one from the church. At a more nuanced level, orthodox and liberal have become caricatures used by those who wish to lampoon opponents with whom they do not agree. Most people have a much more nuanced theological landscape. Again, I believe polarizing language is not helpful. I will state it again: I believe this forum was created for the building up of the church, not for tearing it down. Does this involve critique and self-exmanination of where we are as a church? Certainly it does. However, simply criticizing, name calling(”so-called bishops” “apostates”), and starkly calling a “spade a spade” fails to offer an opportunity for authentic dialogue.

The independent Anglican blogger Anglican Samizdat made an attempt to comment on this debate but claimed to be shut out of the Vision 2019 site. They did allow him to post a link to his site, though, where he re-posted the first part of my exchange with Mr. Wirrell, to which he added his own comment:

"One of the significant things about this exchange is the fact that the ACoC’s defender is basing his defence on the use of language, rather than truth. The redoubtable Frank is intent upon calling “a spade a spade” and this is what seems to upset Rev. Daniel. After all, we are Canadian: what matters is being nice to each other, not the truth. And to set the record straight, the primate, Fred Hiltz is not as gracious as Rev. Daniel would like us to believe: he is supporting dioceses that are suing the pants off people who disagree with them."

I'm not entirely sure what Anglican Samizdat thought I was defending. I was simply suggesting that we frame our debates in a reasoned language and stay away from any slanderous innuendo. Simply because someone does not like the position a bishop has taken it does not give them a right to call their orders into question using slanderous terms like "so-called bishop" and "apostate." There are ways to depose bishops. I am not aware that any of our Canadian House have been deposed. Let us therefore stick to the facts and refrain from name-calling. And for the record, I never once commented on what I take to be "the truth." Thus, it is disingenous to suggest that I have rejected the truth of the gospel. A false dichotomy has been created here.

One further comment was posted on Anglican Samizdat by Jim Muirhead, another regular commentator on the ANiC blog:

"I don’t know Rev Graves, but I have followed Frank’s posts with pleasure at Essentials.This is a classic conversation with between the two parties of Anglicanism in Canada. On the one hand Graves is concerned with manners, and on the other Wirrell stands on the Word. I’ll stand with Frank any time. - Peace,
Jim."

For the record, at no point did I engage Mr. Wirrell on whether or not I "stand on the Word." My blog posts and sermons are a matter of the public record. Should they choose to judge me they can do so from my published writing, but not from this red herring of a debate. No, Mr. Muirhead, this was not a "classic conversation between two parties of Anglicanism in Canada... one concerned with manners and the other with the Word." There was really no debate here, simply an unwillingness on the part of Mr. Wirrell to use the kind of temperate language that makes debate even possible. I stand by my original point that constructive dialogue is characterized by a graciousness of language. If there are those that count me as condemned or apostate for the use of good manners, then so be it. At least my mother will be proud.

Fr. Dan Graves
Feast of St. John the Evangelist, 2009.

The Lord is My Shepherd - A Reflection for Eastertide

2009-04-15T15:30:00.001-04:00

If our memories failed us and we could only remember one piece of Scripture, one word of comfort from our God to us, that would carry us through our earthly days, through each triumph and tragedy, I have no doubt that for many it would be the twenty-third psalm. This psalm speaks to our deepest fear and to our deepest angst. It is a part of our human condition that we fear that we will be left alone, forgotten, forsaken. And we fear that we will not only be forsaken by those who love us, but also by God. This is a fear to which even Jesus succumbed on the cross in his own cry of dereliction. Thus it is to this psalm that we turn at our darkest hour. It not only comforts us when all seems bleak, but challenges us to believe in the midst of our doubt. It challenges us to claim the reality of the Good Shepherd, our Risen Lord, who neither forsakes us nor forgets us, but walks with us and holds us close, even as our faith wavers and our hope falters.

It is a powerful piece of Scripture to which even the un-churched turn in times of crisis. I have a friend whose ministry is almost exclusively a ministry to the bereaved. He officiates at Christian funerals for those whose faith is but a distant memory. He often asks them if there is a particular Bible verse that they would like read as part of the service Invariably they pause for a moment and then say, “Oh yes, do you know that one about the shepherd?” He responds gently, “Yes, I think I know that one… Does is begin, ‘the Lord is my Shepherd?’” “Yes,” they respond, “that’s it!” If they want nothing else, they want Psalm 23. This has certainly been my experience, as well, in working with families with tenuous connections to the Church. Thanks be to God that there is a piece of Scripture that does call to them.

What is it about this simple Hebrew canticle that continues to resonate even with those who have little or no faith. I believe that it is simply this, that our Lord never forsakes us… we are not alone, have never been alone, and never will be alone – even if all others around us fail, God does not fail us. In the words of the psalm, God is reaching out to us, even when this same Lord seems absent from our midst. It is a means through which we can hear the voice of God, feel’s God’s warm embrace, know God’s strong and loving comfort, even when all hope and joy seem but a phantasm beyond our grasp. Thus, it is no surprise that people turn to these words in their deepest moments of loneliness, and particularly in moments in which loved ones are seemingly lost forever to us; when our world has become a lonelier place. For it is not us reaching out for God; rather it is God reaching out for us in our grief and our pain in timeless words of comfort and challenge. I have often wondered if this was one of the Scriptures to which the disciples turned after the crucifixion of their Lord. Was it a Scripture that relentlessly pursued them in their sense of abandonment? After all, Jesus had told them that he was the Good Shepherd, that he would not abandon even one of them to wolves, that if even one of them was lost, he would go searching and find them. Were they able to seek comfort in the Shepherd Psalm when they had lost their Shepherd? Could they find hope in the words “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me,” or “thy rod and thy staff they comfort me?” Could they understand that in these words their Shepherd sought them still?

I knew a man who carried a clipping of Psalm 23 in his wallet, throughout his entire life. It was, for him, a tangible way of expressing the reality that God never left him, that the Good Shepherd was daily leading him beside still waters. He knew the psalm by heart, but he could take it out when times got tough, read it, and form those familiar words on his lips, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,” or “Thy Rod and thy Staff they comfort me.” When it seemed like his Shepherd was out of his line of sight, he took out the words, read them, and knew that while the Shepherd might be out of his sight, he was not beyond the sight of the Shepherd. He knew that he was not alone.

For the disciples, after the death of Jesus, perhaps Cleopas and the others along the Emmaus Road, it must have seemed like their Shepherd had abandoned them. Where now was his rod and staff? And yet, along the road they met a stranger who opened the Scriptures to them, broke bread with them, and then their eyes were opened. Had not their hearts burned within them on that road? The stranger then disappeared from their sight, but this time, they knew that they were not abandoned – no! Christ was Risen! He was with them! Their hunger and thirst were met, their tears were wiped away! Their Shepherd was indeed with them, even though removed from their sight, guiding them to springs of living water. As they broke bread with him that day, their wanting and lamenting turned to feasting and joy. Perhaps, just perhaps, the words he spoke when he was with them echoed in their ears, perhaps, just perhaps, his sheep once again heard his voice … “no one will snatch them from my hand.”

A couple of years ago, I was called to the bedside of a dying man. His family asked me to say prayers with them, and with him. I could tell by his breathing that he was moments from death. I began to read the prayers appointed for the time of death. I arrived at the part of the service in which it says “the 23rd psalm may be read,” I did not turn to it, but recited it from memory… until suddenly I drew a blank. An embarrassing pause that seemed like an eternity was broken by the man’s wife taking my arm and saying “I think it’s, ‘yea thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’ dear.” Everyone smiled gently, and we all continued together, “I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

“For thou art with me…” Even in the fumbling of a young inexperienced minister; even in the grief of a family losing their husband and father; even in the moment of our own death… Thou art with me.” I shall fear no evil. Even if I cannot see the Shepherd, I know, Thou art with me. Even if I cannot hear his voice, I know, Thou art with me. Even if it seems all have forsaken me, even you my God, my God, I shall cleave to the truth, Thou art with me.” Why is it that these words ring so true in the midst of our loneliness and loss? Because they are true. God does not forsake us or abandon us. While all seemed lost on that Emmaus road, along which the disciples walked in sadness and fear, they were pursued by their shepherd, who, in the breaking of bread turned their longing into joy. And while the pain and grief and loss we experience on the road of ithis life is real, so too is the presence of God, the presence of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, whom we meet as we break bread together. For that great Shepherd of the Sheep walks with us through the valleys of our angst and shares with us in our feasts of joy.

Copyright 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Reflection for Lent: Considering the Furniture of Our Spiritual Lives

2009-02-25T06:00:00.000-05:00

“For things done and left undone” is part of the confession we make each week as we approach the altar. It is also part of the confession we make annually on Ash Wednesday. For Christians, Ash Wednesday and the Lenten journey is a time for making our “New Year’s resolutions” not because a new year is beginning but because it is that annual time at which we turn again and put our trust in the Lord.

Lenten discipline, though, is not about heaping things upon ourselves that we can never, or will never be able to accomplish, rather it is about refocusing our lives in the right direction. Lent is about turning the eyes of our hearts and minds, once again, to Christ, who opens the way for us when the way may seem dark or impossible.

Lenten discipline is not about depriving ourselves of good things, but about opening ourselves to the goodness of God. It is about looking around our “spiritual room” and surveying the furniture of this room. This may mean that from time to time we will have to empty our lives of things that clutter up the space. At other times it might mean a rearranging of the furniture of our lives. Or, it may mean even adding some furniture that will make our journey with Christ more meaningful.

Here are three examples.

Most of us in traditions who keep the season Lent (not to mention those who see it caricatured in the entertainment media) have often considered Lent a time of self-denial. And so it may be. Giving up something that draws us or distracts us from God might certainly be a good discipline. Thus, if we escape into food, alcohol, caffeine, television, computer-land, or other distractions to distract us from the reality of our lives, then taking a break (or a fast) from such a thing might help us to bring our concerns and troubles more prayerfully to God, rather than hiding from them through various distraction techniques. Giving up something, or getting rid of some of our “excess furniture”, can be a way of exploring what it feels like to be rid of something that we use as a crutch and replace that crutch with a trust in God. Giving up something should not be done to punish ourselves but rather to open a path to our spiritual healing and growth.

Another example might be to make a change in a routine, in the arrangement of our space -- to “move around the furniture.” If our prayer life is stale, we may change the time we pray (say, from evening to morning). If we find ourselves physically, mentally, or emotionally exhausted, what if we change our exercise pattern, resting pattern, or eating pattern? The regularization of an erratic schedule or the intentional adherence to an existing healthy schedule may not mean adding or subtracting things from one’s day, it might just mean paying more attention to how one goes through the day. Mindfulness of the placement of the furniture of our lives and reflection on how we might make better use of what we have will be a part of many people’s Lenten journey.

Finally, sometimes we will need to add some furniture to the room. This is why most churches have Lenten educational programs and services. The opportunity to intentionally engage the questions of our faith, to grow, learn and enter into a more regular pattern of worship are an important part of the Lenten pilgrimage of faith. It may also be time to take up some individual prayer and study (for example, to work one’s way through a particular book of the Bible; to focus on regular recitation of the Daily Office). It can also be a time of almsgiving, whether that be seen as prayerful charitable giving or the prayerful giving of time and talent to a particular cause. In any event, sometimes we will need to add a piece of furniture to aid us in our spiritual growth.

Will we engage in all three of these areas during any particular Lenten season? Probably not, but examine the furniture of your spiritual room this year and as you embark on a Holy Lent, consider whether you need to houseclean, rearrange, or pick out some new furniture.

c. 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Lenten Homilies by Anglican Clergy

2009-02-17T20:41:00.002-05:00

Readers of this blog may be interested in learning that the Diocese of Toronto has launched a new "Reflections" section on their website. It currently features Lenten homilies by various clergy of our diocese. I am pleased to say that they accepted my submission of my Ash Wednesday homily from last year (2008).

I commend the page to you. It can be found by clicking here.

On Helplessness

2009-02-06T10:45:00.001-05:00

There are times when we feel that we can do nothing. When a crisis hits we have an impulse to help. However, in many cases it would seem that there is nothing to be done… at least by us. There will be some, either through training or skill, who can immediately jump in, begin their work and be the people they are called to be at such a moment. Thanks be to God for such people. For the rest of us though, it will be difficult to stand by, watch, and feel helpless.

It occurs to me that our fear of helplessness comes from being a society of “doers.” Indeed, many of us believe that our value as a person is derived from “what we do” professionally. This is why the loss of a job, a forced change of job, or retirement can be such a traumatic occurrence for so many. Our usefulness and our apparent value is challenged by such a stripping of our presumed identity. When we cannot “do” we wonder if our life has any meaning.

For those of us in the so-called caring professions, or helping professions, the difficulty can be compounded because our “doing” is “helping.” What if we find that we cannot do what we so naturally do? What happens when we cannot answer that cry for help? And as helpful as others might be (again because of their skill and training), the very fact that they can help and we cannot may only underscore our own helplessness. What are we to do?

We can only pray.

Of course, I do not really mean “only”. Prayer is such a profound and great thing and yet how often do we qualify it with the word “only.” “Doctor, what can be done for him?” “Nothing, only prayer.” I am ashamed to say that even for us as Christian people, and yes, even for us as clergy, prayer is often the route of last recourse. I am certain that this is because we are “doers.” To be a “doer” is certainly a good thing if it means making use of our God-given gifts and talents, but we must always remember that all our efforts pale under the sovereignty of God, and if they are done without a recognition of God’s sovereignty then our efforts are for nought.

Prayer is often the last thing because it is the ultimate form of submission to our helplessness. In reality it is often the only thing that we can do. And of course, at its most authentic level, it is not we doing anything at all but it is the Holy Spirit of God who acts. When we cannot find the words or even the will, the Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

Perhaps the simplest of all prayers says it all, the prayer known as the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” This prayer reminds us that we are not the ones who can help or save another. Certainly, there will be times when we are called upon to exercise our gifts, but God is the helper and God is the saviour. Sin is really about us thinking that it is all in our hands, and of course, it is not. This prayer reminds us of this truth. It also directs us to the one who is our Saviour, our helper and our Sovereign Lord, Jesus Christ, who is merciful.

Thus helplessness is not hopelessness, but the road to recognizing that we are not the ones in control. God is in control. Helplessness returns us to the one who sees beyond what we could not do, failed to do, wished we could have done, and things we have left undone. Standing in the presence of that one, simply as we are (not as who we would have ourselves be) we discover our true identity as beloved Children of God. Helplessness reminds us to pray, to open ourselves and the world to the love that God has to give, and no prayer is ever too late or “just” a prayer. Thus, even at in our most helpless moments, we are not without hope.

Let us pray.

Copyright 2009 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Lord Has Comforted His People -- A Christmas Message

2008-12-23T13:22:00.005-05:00

In the quiet of the night, in lowly estate, the Lord bared forth his holy arm before the eyes of the slumbering nations. The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. In the darkness of the darkest night, in poverty, in humility, in the womb of a virgin mother, the Creator of the Cosmos came, and entered into our humanity so that all the ends of the earth might see the salvation of our God.

And on this morning, as the shepherds return to the their sheep, and the angels’ glorias fade into the waning night, as a young mother comforts her newborn child, we know that the Lord has indeed comforted his people.

Comfort – comfort in our weakness. He came, for those who could not come and kneel at the foot of the manger – he came.

Comfort – comfort in our sorrow. He came, for those who had lost hope that God could ever be with them in their despair – he came.

Comfort – comfort in our darkness. He came, for those who had turned from the goodness and mercy of God – he came.

He came to his own and they knew him not. But those who were weak, those who were sorrowful, those whose spirits were clouded by darkness – he came also to them.

He came to a man whose child had died, who called to him in confusion and despair with the words, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!” He came to a Samaritan woman at a well, who had been ostracized by her people who, in spiritual thirst, uttered the words “Give me some living water.” He came to a blind beggar, who, though he could not see healer, still called out “Son of David, have mercy.” He came and they received him and they received power to become children of God.

He has come. And as with those of old, so it is this Christmas: He comes to us. The creator of the world, the heavens and the earth, and indeed the cosmos, comes to us. And we behold his glory, the glory of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. This grace and truth, in the Word made flesh, in Jesus our Lord, is the light that lightens this dark world, and not only the world at large, but lightens us, at the core of our very being as individuals created in his image and likeness. It is a life-giving light that illumines the darkness of our weakness, our despair, and our sorrow.

In our darkness, it is the light of the presence of God amongst us that never leaves us, that never forsakes us. In our darkness, it is the light of a promise that we are children of God. It is a light that shines this very day. It is a light that will never be extinguished. It is a light that burns for each one of us and for all of us as a people, as a human race. Jesus our Lord is born among us, and by his Spirit he abides with us still, uttering these words, “follow thou me.” So that even in a troubled and saddened world, in the ruins of Jerusalem, the children of God break forth with singing, “The Lord has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. The Lord has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations: and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.”

O God, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ became man that we might become the children of God: Grant, we beseech thee, that being made partakers of the divine nature of thy Son, we may be conformed to his likeness; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, now and forever. Amen.[1]

[1] “Collect for the Second Sunday after Christmas,” Book of Common Prayer (Scottish Episcopal Church), 1929, p. 113.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

Imagine -- An Advent Reflection

2008-12-06T17:34:00.004-05:00

A reflection for Advent from the fortieth chapter of the Prophet Isaiah

The Word of the Lord endures forever. Even though we wither like the grass, God goes ever unchanging on, ruler and Lord of all. And in the unending faithfulness of God, he is ever working to reconcile us to himself and to each other. The season of Advent is about us becoming reconciled to God, it is about waiting on the moment that God himself entered human history and called us back to his heart as a shepherd leads his flock. In the time of the Second Temple, John the Baptist was making this very call, telling people to turn back to God and be made ready for his coming – Make straight a pathway for our God.

John’s words evoke another time spoken of by the prophet Isaiah, a time when the Temple had been destroyed and the people of Judah had been taken into captivity by the neo-Babylonian empire. Imagine yourself there. It is very much like the time of the Exodus – it is a time in the wilderness, a time that will apparently never end.

But then, IMAGINE, a voice calls out: “Make straight a pathway, for your God is coming!” You are told that you have suffered long enough for your sins. And God speaks to his prophet, “Speak tenderly to my people, be comforting – be comforted O my people, your time of suffering is ended.”

And then, as if by a miracle, your line of vision is cleared – the low valleys are lifted up, and the high mountains are flattened, and the rough places are smoothed over, and your cloudiness, and despair, and hopelessness give way to clarity. You, and all those who have lived under the shadow of foreign domination, in captivity in a foreign land, for you, the horizon clears and you behold the glory of the Lord. You can return to your beloved Jerusalem. It matters not that it is in ruins, for you have beheld the Glory of God.

IMAGINE, God calls you out of your place of darkness, out of your captivity. Get up he says, get up to the high mountain. Return to Jerusalem and call out to the cities of Judah, call out to all the nations: “Behold, your God!” Shout, shout for joy that God has reconciled his people to himself, and to each other.

IMGAGINE, God calls to you and his people who have wandered in the wilderness of captivity, that he will lead you, not into battle, not into hardship, but will lead you like a shepherd, and he will nestle all the nations against his bosom, like a shepherd leads his sheep.

Now, IMAGINE, lo these many years later, a voice calls out to you – you who are captive in your own wilderness; you whose vision is clouded by high mountains and dark valleys; you whose way is made difficult to navigate by rough pathways. IMAGINE, a voice calls out to you: “Be comforted, my people, be comforted my friend. Make straight a pathway in you heart for me and I will make the low valleys of your despair rise and the high mountains of you fear recede. The rough pathway that you cannot walk will be made smooth… Be comforted and make me a pathway, and at the horizon you will see me, you will behold your God.

IMAGINE, from that horizon, God will reach out to you, and draw you unto himself and lift you up to a high mountain from which you can call to others “Behold your God” and witness to his gentleness and care.

My friends. You do not have to imagine. It is so.

To read last year's Advent reflection, click here.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This text may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

The Gospel of Mark Challenge: Reflection Six -- The Little Apocalypse

2008-11-05T10:40:00.000-05:00

This Generation Will Not Pass Away Until All These Things Have Taken Place

It can be frustrating for those of us in mainstream Christianity when we feel as if certain very conservative sectors of Christianity have appropriated the Bible for their sole use, and their own particular stream of interpretation as the only “true” mode of interpreation. Who are we to blame, but ourselves, though? Do we in the Christian mainstream assert ownership over the Bible? Do we openly engage in a public conversation with the text of the Bible? Do we attempt to deal with difficult passages as they present themselves? I fear we do not. As I have said previously, sometimes our lectionary does not help us much. It often excises difficult passages, and in particular, severely edits many of the apocalyptic passages of Scripture. As I see it, this is extremely problematic for mainstream Christians. For most mainstream Christians, the only teaching that they ever get, or sermons that they ever hear about the apocalyptic passages of Scripture, come from televanglelists or from visits to so-called “bible-believing” churches. While it would be easy to blame such churches and their dubious literal apocalyptic teaching and interpretation, I suggest we consider our own failure to take up the challenge of interpreting these passages for ourselves and for our people.

Advent provides an opportunity for us to do this. In the weeks leading up to Advent and throughout Advent itself, the lectionary gives us the opportunity to read some of these passages and to think about them. Certainly, the lectionary editors have carved up some of this material and it is incumbent upon us to try to handle it not in its edited versions but in its textual integrity.

Lately, I have been considering the Gospel of Mark, as we are moving into Year B, the year in which said gospel is read. The first Sunday of Advent includes a portion of Mark’s “Little Apocalypse,” from chapter 13. The verses offered are verses that look toward the coming of the Son of Man. In Advent we are balancing two themes related to the coming of God to us. First, we look forward of the birth of the Christ child at Christmas. Many of the Old Testament passages as well as a couple of Lukan passages speak to this. Secondly, we look toward the consummation of all things in the coming of the Lord on the day of judgment. Often we play down the latter in favour of the former. Is it not more palatable to talk about the birth of Christ in a stable rather than the coming of the Lord in judgment? Yet, how similar the two events are. In a world that was filled with oppression, injustice and hatred, Christ appeared. And in our present day, in such a similar world (although so much has changed, so little has changed) he comes again.

The earlier portion of Mark 13 is not read, but speaks of all sorts of signs of the times – terrible things that will indicate that the coming of the Lord is at hand. But has this not been the theme of Mark’s entire gospel? Recall the first words we find on the lips of Jesus, “The kingdom of God has come near… Repent and believe the Good News.” The kingdom of God has come near. The gospel was written to call people to the point of decision. Every age is the end-time. It is a time for the old to be put away and for the new to break forth. It is a time for repentance, re-creation, reconciliation and transformation. The old order is passing away. The bad news is this: that evil rears its head in every age and tries to take control of the world. The bad news is this: that we are, from age to age, complicit with the powers of evil in their attempt to control the present age. The bad news is this: that we have no power of our own to change this. From age to age there will be wars and rumours of wars. We cannot change that.

But here is the good news: God does. God has. God will. In Christ Jesus, in the birth of the Messiah, the old order is passing away, and the kingdom of God has come very near… indeed, is at hand. Here is the Good news: although the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet. Here is the Good news: God is making us anew, changing us and calling us his children, on this very day, in this very age.

Apocalyptic theology is not to be feared, for it is not really about some future revealing of God, but his present self-disclosure, to you and to me, in Christ Jesus. Every age is an age of great upheaval. But in every age our Lord comes to us with healing in his wings.

c. 2008, the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Gospel of Mark Challenge -- Reflection Five: Cursing the Fig Tree; Cleansing the Temple

2008-10-28T14:13:00.002-04:00

Some time ago, one of our parishioners asked me about the passage in Mark 11 in which Jesus curses a fig tree and it dies. I had hoped to write on this sooner, but moving house at the beginning of the month followed by a week of conferences delayed things a bit. Subscribing to the adage, “better late than never,” here is my reflection:

The story of Jesus’ cursing of a fig tree occurs in the second half of Mark chapter eleven, following his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The day after, he goes out to Bethany and comes upon a fig tree in leaf. The tree however, has no fruit. Jesus curses the tree and says to it, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” Jesus then returns to Jerusalem, goes up to the Temple and overturns the tables of the money-changers in what has become known as the story of “the cleansing of the Temple.” The next morning the disciples and Jesus pass by the fig tree again and Peter points out that it is withered to its roots. Jesus then proceeds to give a short “sermon” on faith and prayer.

Just what is happening in this complicated text? I must admit, that I had not originally intended to comment on it. Upon, reflection though, it not only illustrates a number of key Markan themes, but also gives us a nice example of Mark’s literary style and structuring. The “book-ending” of the story of the cleansing of the Temple between the story of the cursing of the fig tree has been referred to as a “literary sandwich.” Mark does this on a number of occasions. It is generally an indication that he intends the two stories to interpret each other. So, just what are we to make of this “literary sandwich?”

Let us consider for a moment what the two stories have in common. Both immediately follow his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, perhaps indicating something of the coming kingdom, namely, an element of judgment for those who do not receive him.

Let us ask what it is about the fig tree that he finds so objectionable. The tree is in full leaf, but it does not bear fruit. It looks healthy, productive and verdant. But is it? And what of the Temple? Let us remember that during the time of Jesus, an impressive multi-year reconstruction project was underway. It had been inaugurated as part of a massive building programme throughout Judea by Herod the Great. The edifice was fantastic. It was meant to be a place of great piety and devotion. But was it? Was it like the fig tree that appeared healthy and verdant, but bore no fruit?

It has been suggested by many scholars that Jesus’ cursing of the fig tree is an enacted parable in which Jesus not only offers caution about the Temple establishment, but indeed passes judgment on it. Like the fig tree, so too with the Temple, not all is as it should be. Appearances are deceiving. There are wolves in sheep’s clothing (to borrow from one of the Matthean sayings of Jesus – Matthew 7:15). Of what sin is the Establishment guilty? Mark tells us that as Jesus approaches the fig tree he is hungry, but it has no fruit. The people of God are hungry -- hungry for the living God. The people of God are hungry – hungry for righteousness and justice. The people of God are hungry -- hungry for peace and reconciliation. Mark seems to be telling us that in all these things the Establishment failed.

This would seem to be very bad news for us in the Establishment we call Church. Dow we not recognize ourselves in this struggle? Do we not see ourselves, within our great edifices, failing to offer hope, failing to offer justice, failing to offer peace, failing to offer the living God? Are we any better? Has the Church fared any better in changing the world than any other establishment in any other time or place?

Well, as God is our judge, God alone will know. But I do wish to suggest that there is good news in the passage. Whereas Jesus cursed the tree and caused it to wither, likewise he cleansed the Temple. Of course the Temple is not simply to be understood as the physical temple in first century Jerusalem, but stands for all human institutions that seek to do the work of God but periodically fail in the task. He prophesied to it. He called it to account. He cleansed it. And in doing so he offered hope. Hope is found not in our own works but in the work of God in Christ. We can work for the kingdom, and so we should; but as St. Paul said, not I but Christ in me – the hope of glory. The tree was cursed, but we are cleansed. God is sovereign.

Finally, Mark concludes the story with Jesus’ saying on faith and prayer. “Have faith in God,” he says. This is the kind of faith that moves mountains, because it is not our faith but the faith of Christ. It is the faith of Christ that moves the mountains of our lives and rolls the stones away from the tombs in which we are buried. What is more, it is the faith of Christ that calls to account, transforms and cleanses our human institutions. What should be judged as failures are redeemed by a loving God.

How does the story end? With words of forgiveness: “Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone; so that your Father in heaven may also forgive your trespasses.” Forgiveness. He does not curse the fruitless vine of our lives but instead offers cleansing and forgiveness – to us as individuals and to us as a people. Thus, we stand not alone, withered to the root as if cursed, but as a temple to the Holy Spirit, enlivened through his abiding presence and through his faith, by his grace, offering his words of hope to a broken world.

c. 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Sermon I Did Not Preach

2008-10-07T19:00:00.004-04:00

I prepared two sermons for last Sunday. One of them I never gave.

In our parish, as in many parishes across Canada, we celebrate Harvest Thanksgiving on the Sunday before National Thanksgiving. Given the events of the previous week and the turmoil created by the financial crisis, I felt very strongly moved to offer a sermon that would challenge those who, even in the midst of such crisis, still have so much more than many in the world.

However, after writing the sermon I found myself filled with considerable anger. Indeed, the process of writing brought that anger to light. I then found myself questioning my motives in writing such a sermon. Whence came my anger? I had hoped that it was righteous anger but was worried that it might be something else. I spoke with others close to me about the sermon and tried to sort out my motives and goals. I argued that, in the words of that great scholar and preacher, Walter Brueggemann, a preacher must always "bring a word from somewhere else." I had hoped the sermon would challenge those with wealth to reconsider the so-called financial catastrophe that the West was now facing. I had hoped to preach something prophetic. I slowly came to wonder if my anger might be founded more in jealousy and resentment than truly righteous indignation. The pulpit is never a place for a personal rant. If the anger was my own then all I would be doing was ranting. I never fully resolved to what degree I was accessing personal anger.

The second factor in my deliberations was the fear that the sermon would not be well-received. After all, I would be preaching to a largely wealthy group. In addition, what does a young (well, fairly young) priest who has no money invested in the markets and lives off the good graces of these same parishoners know about money or the markets? Could I possibly understand what those who are invested in the markets must be feeling at the moment? Would it be an act of self-righteous arrogance on my part to presume to speak to the situation? Would I be rejected for preaching a challenging word? If I failed to preach it for this reason, would I be a coward?

The third factor involved a comparing myself with my peers. This is never a good thing, but I am being honest, so I'll name it. Many of my fellow clergy with whom I was educated are strong social gospel and outreach priests. Care for the poor and advocacy for the marginalized forms a large part of their ministry. You will all know that I am something of an ivory tower priest. I am old fashioned. I visit the sick, I write, I preach. I must confess to feeling half a priest some days because I do not share the same passion for outreach as many of my peers. I suppose that when I felt the righteous indignation stirring within me for the gospel of God's "preferential option for the poor," that I must finally take up the call. But was I seeking to be someone who I am not?

I did not preach the sermon. I am not sure if it is because I felt the anger was my own rather than God's. I am not sure if is because I am a coward. I am not sure if it is because I realized that I am not really a social gospel preacher. In the end I felt too confused over my motives in wanting to give the sermon and as to why I wrote it in the first place.

"Preach compassion," said my wife, Athena.

Preach compassion. That is what I try to do every week. I knew that to do so would be authentic to who I am. I struggled with that at first. Am I never allowed to preach a word of challenge? Perhaps. But not this time, I concluded. So I wrote a different sermon and preached it (click here to read it). Several people responded that it had touched them and spoke to them. Should I have preached the first sermon? I do not know. I do believe in preaching the second one that I preached faithfully.

What follows is the sermon I did not preach. I present it not as the word proclaimed or interpreted. Rather, I offer it as an example of the process that we sometimes must go through when we preach a sermon. If I had preached this, would I have abused my call? Or, was I a coward in abandoning it? I leave that to God, for he his my judge.

Homily for Harvest Thanksgiving, Year A, 2008
Intended for Sunday, Oct 5th, 2008
Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Thornhill, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Text: Psalm 126

“Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy.”
Ps. 126:6

For those of us who grew up not in the country but in the city, or at least the suburbs, the distance between the field and the table can seem quite vast. Therefore, the church’s traditional celebration of thanksgiving, which focuses on the bounty of the harvest, can seem somewhat out of place. After all, when we have fresh produce and all manner of food from around the world at our fingertips, does it not seem odd to celebrate that we the harvest at all? Have any of us here in Thornhill laboured in fields this year? Are we preserving now what we have laboured over because we will not be able to find fresh food once the snow flies? Aside from the beautification of our grounds and some hobby gardening, how many of us rely on our own tilling of the soil for our annual sustenance? And so I say again, why do we celebrate the harvest?

However, because so few of us till the earth perhaps it is crucial for us to make our annual celebration of the harvest. I would suggest that we need to be reminded that our bounty comes not from the store but from the land, and that it comes from the hands of those who still labour against all odds in our quickly decaying environment, and most especially it comes from our creator who has made provision enough for all. All good things around us are sent from heaven above. We should ever remember this fact. Thus, I suggest that it is imperative that we make our annual celebration of the harvest to give thanks to God not only for the bounty that comes from the earth but also for the many blessings that we receive day by day at his hands, the bounty of our lives.

Yet, this calls to mind another reason for keeping the harvest festival, and sadly, it is the darker side of our bounty, and in it there is no cause for celebration or festivity. In our privileged society it is easy to forget that what may be seen to us even as an impoverished life may seem to those in other places as luxury. Even when we do without and find ourselves lacking in something, we may still have much more than so many others. And we must ask ourselves, very seriously, what have we done to till the earth for those who go without? What have we done to share the bounty of the harvest? What have we done honour all that we have received from God?

The psalmist writes, “The Lord has done great things for us and we are glad indeed.” It is easy for us to be glad when we have so much, and yet do we rejoice and give thanks to God for what we have received? Or do we complain and lament over what we do not have? There is a certain irony in the so-called economic crisis facing the world this week. We are crying that the sky is falling and yet, has the sky not already fallen for those who live daily with the reality of hunger in various parts of our world? Has the sky not already fallen on that child who has lost both parents to the ravages of HIV and now must raise her younger siblings into a world of poverty and hopelessness? Has the sky not fallen on them? And where have we been? In the course of a very short week, one world power has the will and the means to commit SEVEN HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS of the world’s bounty to bail out those who, even in the midst of tragic financial loss, would still be deemed wealthy by the world’s poorest children. Where is the seven hundred billion for those who die because we cannot find the will or the means to offer even the basic blessings we take for granted, like medicine and food. Why is there no moral ambiguity about finding seven hundred billion dollars to offer the rich (and yes, even the average working family in the west is rich by global standards), but when the suggestion is made that we help the poorest of the poor, the way is marred by moral obstacles and ambiguities and cries of “we cannot” for all sorts of apparently logical reasons. How dare we cry “they sky is falling,” when we should be giving thanks and sharing the bounty that God has given us.

The Lord has indeed done great things for us. Shall we believe that the Lord has great things to offer for the rest of the world? Shall we work with our Lord to bring forth his kingdom of justice and dignity for all? Did Christ not come for the whole world? If we rejoice in this life it is because we also know what it is to feel pain, loss, and poverty, be it poverty of goods or poverty of spirit. Each of us knows, in some way, what it is to hurt, to hunger and thirst, to lament, to lose. We may never have done without food or shelter, but we may have gone without love. We may, at some time or another, have been rejected or forgotten. And we all have, I am sure, from time-to-time, felt lost and alone. There are many kinds of poverty in this life. All of us have known some kind of poverty at some point in our lives. Thus, we know what it is to rejoice and celebrate deliverance from affliction, strife and need. We know what it feels like to be relieved of suffering and pain. To rejoice is to confess the reality that there is a way through our poverty, be it economic, material, emotional or spiritual, into the land of promise. As the psalmist writes, “When the Lord restores the fortunes of Zion…Then our mouth is filled with laughter.”

As we celebrate this Harvest Thanksgiving festival, let us never lose sight of the fact that we have much for which to give thanks. The field is far from the table to us in the First World and it is easy for us to forget that we need to give thanks. But because so much comes to us so easily we should not forget that there are those for whom the field and the table are very close and sadly, for them the field is barren and the table is empty. We must pray for God to restore the fortunes of those who go without this day, but what is more we know from whence those fortunes are to come: the fortunes are to be found on our table, my friends, even in the midst of a so-called economic crisis. God has the will for all the needs of the world to be supplied. Do we? God has given growth to the earth that none might go without. Shall we hoard or shall we share? God has given us the compassion to feel the poverty of others; shall we walk alongside them in their time of need? They go along weeping and sow their seed. Let us join with them in sowing the seed our Lord has given us to share. If we do we shall find that we all shall come home with shouts of joy and thanksgiving in our hearts.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves

Gospel of Mark Challenge: Reflection Four -- You Are Not Far from the Kingdom of God

2008-10-01T14:13:00.002-04:00

“The Kingdom of God has come near.” These are the first words spoken by Jesus in the Gospel of St. Mark. As the gospel unfolds, Jesus’ various miracles, exorcisms and healings all serve to underscore the reality of the closeness of the kingdom. It is therefore ironic that during his lifetime few of his followers really come to understand and believe that the kingdom truly is breaking through in their midst.

I often wonder how much we are like those disciples who hear those words but cannot quite believe them to be true. As I noted in a previous post, we long to believe that God is alive, active, and working in our lives and in our world, but so much of what goes on around us speaks to the contrary. Furthermore, if we do believe these words, “the kingdom of God has come near,” we often have our own particular ideas of what the kingdom of God means. Is the kingdom of God a small select group of holy individuals who have “got it right” with respect to their theology, doctrine, ethics, liturgy or prayer? It is tempting to think so. After all, the words that follow this proclamation of Jesus is the admonition, “Repent, and believe in the good news.” Thus, at first glance it appears that the kingdom is solely for those special people who turn from one way of life and believe all the right things. I wonder, though, if this is how we are to interpret this text. It seems that the first disciples interpreted it this way, for they turned from their former lives and followed Jesus. Yet, the fact that they continually got it wrong leads me to wonder if they really understood what this means, and thus, I wonder if we truly understand what Jesus meant.

As noted previously, it is often the demons and adversaries of Jesus that recognize the true nature of his mission, his true identity, and indeed the nature of the kingdom he brings. In many instances in St. Mark’s gospel, the scribes try to “trip-up” Jesus, and get him to say something by which he will incriminate himself. He usually turns the tables on them and they leave, themselves confounded. But as we turn to Mark 12:28-34 something very different happens.

The story goes like this. A scribe, overhearing a dispute that Jesus was having with someone, and being impressed with Jesus’ answer, asks a question of Jesus. Note that this scribe is not trying to “trip-up” Jesus, but something has been genuinely stirred within him. He is authentically seeking to understand who Jesus is and the message he brings. It is not a “trip-up” question, and although it might have been construed as one, Jesus did not take it as such. Jesus took the question as one offered faithfully with an open heart. He of course responded with what has become known as “The Summary of the Law” (which Anglicans today recite as part of our liturgy), namely, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself.” The scribe received these words as true, confirming them and intensifying them by elucidating to Jesus that he, himself, understands these precepts as being more important than burnt offerings and sacrifices. To the scribe’s affirmation Jesus responded, “You are not far from the Kingdom of God.”

You are not far from the kingdom of God. Love God with your entire being and love your neighbour as yourself – this is the meaning of the Kingdom, and indeed, this is the reality of the Kingdom.. It should never be forgotten that these two precepts are interwoven, love of neighbour is always an act of worship, and God can be loved in service to our fellow human beings. If this love animates our very essence, then we are not far from the kingdom The disciples missed the point that God was in their midst, in Jesus Christ, and thus they failed to truly understand that the kingdom of God was at hand. The reality is that Christ remains in our midst today and the kingdom of God is indeed very near, yea, at hand.

Thus, we must repent. But from what shall we repent? We shall repent from our pride and vanity that we always know the mind of God. We shall repent from our judgment and criticism of others who also believe that they alone know the mind of God. We shall repent from a close-mindedness that keeps us from being open to the possibility of God transforming the world and the church. And we shall repent from the fear that keeps us from taking risks in following God and being reconciled with neighbour.

Thus, we must believe in the Good News. But what is that Good News to which we turn? It is the Good News that peace is our pathway and love our banner. It is the Good News that reconciliation is possible between us and God, and between us and our estranged brothers and sisters. And it is the Good News that we are never left alone in this world and all it throws at us. It is the Good News that the kingdom of God is very near indeed.

I certainly do not want to throw away the precepts of our faith, neither our theologies and doctrines, nor our ethics. Yet, I must say that the message of Jesus in Mark is one in which we are challenged beyond and through a religiosity that veils the kingdom and into a different sort of religious awareness in which the veil is lifted and we realize that the kingdom of God is not far off indeed. Let us therefore seek the Lord where he may be found. Let us turn from selfishness to love and we will find ourselves, with that faithful scribe, very close to the kingdom of God.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, my any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

The Gospel of Mark Challenge: Reflection Three -- Lord I Believe, Help My Unbelief

2008-09-23T16:23:00.002-04:00

The ninth chapter of St. Mark’s gospel features one of my favourite sayings in the whole of Holy Scripture. A man whose child is possessed by a self-destructive spirit has come to Jesus and asks him, if he is able, to cure his son. “If you are able! – All things can be done for the one who believes,” to which the man responds in a cry, “Lord I believe, help my unbelief.”

Lord I believe, help my unbelief. Were truer, more honest words ever spoken by any man or woman of any age? Each of us, especially in moments of crisis, earnestly longs to believe that God is not only present but also active in our lives. Yet, in the midst of crisis when it can seem that we are alone and lost, when world comes crashing down around us, when we feel most powerless, when we our lives tumbling out of control, how difficult it is to believe. At the same time, it is in those moments when all seems lost that we, in our exasperation, most frequently call upon God in a call of last resort to intervene and pull us out of the mire.

God is faithful. God is faithful when our faith is insufficient. God is faithful when we have lost the faith of those around us. God is faithful in a world that has forgotten that God even exists. Amidst all the ambiguity of our lives, even as we turn from God, God seeks us out and calls us by name asking, “Have ye faith?” To which we can often only respond, “Lord, I want to believe, I long to believe, I fear I cannot believe – help me to believe.” And God is faithful.

The very fact that we have this conversation with God is a recognition of both the presence and sovereignty of God and a sign of God’s faithfulness. Even as we fear that we do not believe in God, we find ourselves in a conversation with him. Even as we lament his abandonment we witness to his presence by calling his name. Even as we fear we have lost our faith, he makes his faith our own as we call upon the great “I am” in which our very existence is ever grounded.

I have often thought that the entrance to every church, a plaque should prominently be displayed with the words, “Lord I believe, help thou my unbelief.” Such a plaque would surely be a sign to the world that the Christian walk is not one in which we travel under our own power but through the mercies of God. It would be a recognition that to be a Christian is to escape the travails of the world but to live in the midst of them, calling upon God to journey with us in all our faith and in all our doubt. After all, in our baptism we respond to the call to walk the Christian life with the words, “I will, with God’s help.” Is this not simply another way of stating what that man said so long ago when implored by Jesus to believe?

There is something about this story that is troubling, though. Mark describes the man’s son as “having a spirit.” In the language of the first century, it seems likely that the child was actually suffering some kind of mental illness. Jesus healed the child. However, I am deeply conscious that not every illness in this world is healed by a prayer of faith and that may make it seem like God is faithless, even when we are faithful. I walk with people every day who have great suffering in their families, be it mental, spiritual or physical illness. I am quite aware that there is no quick fix. I also believe strongly that wholeness may not be as much about cure as about living as faithfully, humanly, lovingly, courageously, in the situations in which we find ourselves. How much more poignant this saying then becomes. When the quick fix or cure does not come, then the prayer “help my unbelief” becomes much more real to us.

When the quick fix or cure eludes us, our sense of aloneness might grow. We can begin to feel that we have done something wrong, or worse, we can be accused by others of not doing something right. If only I were a better caregiver, parent, or friend; if only I were more faithful, prayed harder, or lived a purer life. These are all sentiments that can threaten to enslave us. They are also sentiments that can threaten to separate us from our each other. The most destructive thing about illness of any kind is not what it can do the human body but what it can do to our shared body, that is, the community. In the vulnerability of illness (and caregiving) anger, guilt, doubt, and regret can all be exposed, driving a wedge between those who love each other, separating us, leaving us feeling alone. But this is when we realize that we are not alone, this is when that cry of despair forms on our lips, formed not under our own power but by a loving God who knows the depths of our pain. These words are given shape on our lips, in faith, by a faithful God who responds in faith to our deepest angst.

Perhaps there will be no cure, but surely a “demon” is driven out, and that “demon” is hopelessness. In recognizing that we do not walk alone along a hard path we find hope. We begin to see the healing of wounds that have separated us as members of a family and community. We begin to understand that life is not without pain and suffering, but neither are we without a friend and counselor who takes our hand on this life’s journey, that great physician of our souls, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

The Gospel of Mark Challenge: Reflection Two -- "Who Are My Mother and My Brothers?"

2008-09-08T15:53:00.004-04:00

For the introduction to the Gospel of Mark Challenge, click here.

In the latter part of the third chapter of The Gospel of Mark we learn that Jesus’ family is somewhat worried about what he has been up to. When he returns home (Mark 3:21), his family tries to restrain him because people were accusing him of being out of his mind. A Scribe had even come down from Jerusalem and accused Jesus of being possessed. In 3:31, with his mother and brothers (and possibly his sisters, depending on the manuscript evidence) standing outside, he shrugs off their concern for him. In fact, Jesus seems to shrug off his family of origin entirely and insists that those amongst him (his disciples, the ones who do the will of God) are actually his true family.

As a parent I am sympathetic to his poor mother. On the one hand, she must have seen what he was doing and been wonderfully proud and deeply moved, and yet, she certainly would have feared for both his safety and his reputation. But if trust is a theme emerging in this gospel, then members of his family were without trust. They are sharply contrasted to the fishermen who laid down their nets and left their former lives to follow him. Where Simon and Andrew, James and John, and all the others followed him (their continued misunderstanding of his mission notwithstanding), his family tried to restrain him and hold him back.

How easy it is to hold on to what we know best. How much simpler the world seems if the life never changes. We cannot keep our children from growing up any less than we can face the reality that each are growing older every day. Time does indeed flow like an “ever rolling stream.” I suppose we instinctively oppose change because it reminds us that we will inevitably have to let go of things. Whenever I officiate at the funeral of someone who is my parents’ age, I must face the reality that the day will come when I will need to say goodbye to them. Whenever I speak with friends and colleagues who have children who are leaving home (and facing both exciting and challenging times with their near-adult offspring) I must face the reality that my children will grow and leave me before I realize that their childhood has slipped away. I can understand his family’s reaction because change for one member of a family system means change for the rest.

However, healthy families systems are systems that can embrace change and live into the uncertainty and mystery of change. I think that this is what Jesus was getting at when he said to his disciples “You are my mother and brother and sisters.” They became his family because they were able to embrace change with all its ambiguity and uncertainty. They were able to take risks, make mistakes, and even get it wrong. They were able to do these things because they knew God was with them.

But lest we think that Jesus wrote off his birth family, consider this: Mary became an important figure in the Early Church, the mother of a new family, nascent Christianity, after the death of her son. Consider this: Jesus’ brother James became the leader of the Jerusalem Church and even suffered death by stoning for his faith. Consider this: According to Eusebius, the historian of the Early Church, his cousins became great leaders in the early church and witnesses to the faith.

Like the family of Jesus, it may be difficult for us to trust. Like them, we may wish to cling to a childhood image of Jesus that involves no risk to us, but neither does it challenge us to grow. But like them, we too may be transformed by God’s grace. Like them, we may cast off the fears that enslave us. Like them, we can change. Like them, we may become incorporated into a new, more inclusive family, in which we are all brothers and sisters in Christ, and children of the living God. May we always seek to do his will.

Text copyright 2008, by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

The Gospel of Mark Challenge: Reflection One - "Follow Me"

2008-09-04T12:20:00.003-04:00

When I issued the Gospel of Mark Challenge (click here for original post) and pledged to read and pray alongside each of you, I had no preconceived program for what form my reflections on the Mark’s Gospel would take. I planned simply to reflect on themes that occurred to me in my own reading and to speak to comments and questions offered by each of you.

There are certainly several themes and concepts that emerge in the first two chapters that would be fruitful to consider. There is, of course, the fact that St. Mark begins not with a birth narrative but with Jesus’ baptism, temptation, and immediately moves into his early ministry. Indeed, you may have noticed that the word “immediately” is a connecting word that Mark uses very frequently. Mark’s narrative moves along at a quick pace, in the present tense, and certainly has a sense of immediacy and urgency. The immediacy is also found on the lips of Jesus, “The kingdom of God has come near/is at hand; repent and believe in the good news!” The Kingdom is not something far from us, but very near, even “at hand.” Thus, in this sense of urgency and immediacy, St. Mark’s Gospel is not a narrative that is terribly interested in describing Jesus’ “back-story” but rather draws the reader/listener in the “eternal present” of Jesus’ ministry.

Then, of course, we come across the healings, exorcisms, and miracles. Much could be said about his these wonderful works. On the one hand each of these moments are signs of the breaking through of God’s kingdom, and yet Jesus’ is very reserved about sharing his identity as Messiah. Throughout the story, Jesus orders his disciples not to tell anyone who he is. How can this be if his deeds are to be signs of the Kingdom? Scholars call this problem of Jesus’ hidden identity, “The Messianic Secret.” As you read on you will note that there are many who recognize Jesus as Messiah but do not follow him (e.g. the demons that he casts out), while his own disciples often fail to recognize him. I have often thought that this Gospel might be appropriately subtitled “The Disciples – the Stupid Years.” Jesus works all these signs and yet even his followers do not seem to understand what he is about! Of course, the narrative holds a great literary irony, for we, the readers, are really the ones “in the know.” It baffles us to think that the disciples could be so dense, while demons and outsiders understand. The point is, of course, that we see through the lens of our faith and through the lens of the Resurrection, as surely as did the first readers/hearers of this Gospel. We know the story even before we read or hear it. Yet, there are times in our lives when even with all that we know, we fail to see the obvious. The point is surely this, that we do not always recognize the signs of God’s hand even when it should be most apparent to us.

This leads to my final reflection for today. A parishioner wrote to me about this passage and suggested that we live an age in which trust is very difficult. Our lawyers must double- and triple-check any transactions we make. We are suspicious of the motives of our fellow human beings. In these first to chapters of St. Mark we see Jesus calling his first disciples, Simon and Andrew, and the Sons of Zebedee. They lay down their nets, they leave their past lives, and follow him. No contracts. No lawyers looking over their new employment arrangements. “Follow me,” says our Lord, and they come. Later he calls Levi, a rather disreputable tax collector, and sat down to a meal with other tax collectors and sinners.

To answer that call, “Follow me,” involves risk. It involves leaving behind certain things that we might otherwise wish to cling to; it involves sitting down to dine with people we might otherwise not choose to dine with; it involves stepping out in faith, without the approval of others; and it involves trust. However, our trust is placed in the one who will never desert or abandon us, or leave us without hope. Our trust is a Lord who opens new doors as old ones close. Our trust is in the one who meets us in our hour of deepest need, or in our darkest night. Our trust is in the Lord Jesus Christ, who opens for us the way of life and continually proclaims the new day of God’s kingdom ever dawning upon us.

The Gospel of Mark Challenge

2008-08-31T20:24:00.006-04:00

In my August 31st, 2008 homily (click here), I issued a challenge to parishioners to engage in praying the Daily Office over the next month and reading through the Gospel of Mark. In my homily I stressed that prayer (although requiring both effort and discipline) is not principally about doing, but about being. Prayer is about being in relationship with the living God. All relationships require commitment, effort, and time. However, the most important thing about being in a relationship, be it with a friend, lover, child or parent, is simply being together.

As Christian people, prayer is our way of being in relationship with God. In prayer we make the time, we commit ourselves to being together with God, and we enter into a conversation with God. How do we do this?

In my homily I suggested the following. First, make a regular time everyday to spend in prayer. If you are a morning person, this could be early in the day, before anyone else in your house awakes. Perhaps ending the day with prayer before you fall asleep will be more suited to your personality and lifestyle. Some people I know take a bit of time in the middle of the day, over their lunch hour, in a quiet place to engage in prayer. It is important to make the time and pray daily. The time of day does not matter.

Secondly, all relationships involve mutual conversation and shared experience. As Christian people, Holy Scripture is our shared story and the beginning and ending of all our conversations with God. Thus, a daily reading of Scripture should be at the core of our daily prayer. To this end, I have invited the people of my own parish to join me over the next month and read through the Gospel of Mark as part of our daily time of prayer. The Gospel of Mark (which will be the Gospel that read through next year during our Sunday liturgies) has 16 chapters, so this means roughly half a chapter a day -- a mere couple of paragraphs! (If you do not have copy of the Bible you may find the Gospel of Mark online by clicking here).

How are we to pray? There are many ways to pray but I suggest (as I have in the past in this blog-- click here) that we take up a particularly Anglican form of prayer, the Daily Office. The Daily Office is that ancient cycle of morning and evening prayer and reading that has nourished the life of the Church for centuries. It consists of sentences of Scripture, versicles and responses, canticles, pslams, readings from Scripture, an affirmation of faith, intercessory prayers, collects and other prayers. The Daily Office can be either a short or lengthy service, depending on whether or not we include all the variables that are offered -- it is up to the one praying! The wonderful thing about the service is that the words are words of "common prayer," that is, words that are found in a common text and shared by other Christians who are also "praying the office" either individually or in communities around the world. Some people will wish to pray both the morning and evening office, while others will be satisfied with one or the other. The late night office of Compline (Night Prayer) is also a beautiful service that ends the day.

Where can these services be found? If you own a Book of Common Prayer or Book of Alternative Services, Morning & Evening Prayer can be found toward the beginning of these books. If you don't own either, they can be obtained very inexpensively through The Anglican Book Centre. I have also included, on the sidebar of this page, several resources (books and online resources) which might be of assistance.

Thus, I encourage you, in the days ahead, to pray the Daily Office each day, and as part of that prayer, where a passage of Scripture is appointed, read half a chapter of the Gospel of Mark. In my homily I made two further points. First, if you miss a day, don't worry. No one is keeping track. Just pick up where you left off -- no need to double-up. Just keep going. Secondly, I pledge to read and pray with you and be a companion on the journey of prayer. As you pray daily and read through Mark I shall be doing the same. If questions arise, or if you have any comments (either with respect to The Gospel of Mark or praying the Daily Offfice), please do not hesitate to contact me at the email address above. I will be offering reflections on Mark's Gospel in the days ahead and would be pleased to address any of the questions or comments that might emerge out of your reading and prayer.

Finally, I would like to reiterate that prayer is not so much about doing but about being. Prayer is about being with God in a relationship, and Scripture is the anchor of our conversation. The Daily Office is one way in which we can intentionally nurture and deepen that relationship. I invite you to join me on the journey.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.

What the Lectionary Doesn't Let Us Read

2008-08-15T15:56:00.006-04:00

In preparing for my homily for Proper 20, I found myself once again frustrated with the Revised Common Lectionary. Throughout the summer I have been preaching on the The Epistle to the Romans. For Proper 20, Year A, the lectionary appoints Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32, to be read, thus skipping over a large portion of chapter eleven. This happens several times with respect to Romans. On Proper 9, we read 1:16-17, 3:22b-28, thus skipping much of chapters one and three, and all of chapter two. Similarly, much of chapter nine is missing later on in the cycle. As a result, we are carefully directed away from passages that might lead us in the direction of sermons that address themes and concepts such as homosexuality, knowledge of God through natural theology, supersessionism, predestination, and yes, sin). Careful readers of the lectionary will note that considerable portions of the The Revelation to St. John are also absent, as well as several unpalatable passages from the Old Testament. This is only to scrape the surface.

As I explain in my Sunday homily (click here), I first encountered this problem some years ago when I was preaching on the The Book of Revelation and noted that all the nice “pie-in-the-sky” passages and glorious eschatological hymns were included but difficult passages, such as a series of “woes” in Revelation 22, were not. I asked someone with whom I worked, who had been a member of the lectionary committee, why this was the case, and was told that many difficult passages had not been included because preachers would have to spend so much time explaining the difficult pieces that they might never get to preaching the Good News.

Well, I’m sorry, but this has always stuck in my craw. Just who are the lectionary editors to judge that preachers are incompetent to exegete the text responsibly? This is not to say that the state of preaching in the Church is not in a sorry state. I have heard many sermons that have left me positively unedified, but not because the text of Scripture was unedifying. I am not above being the object of the criticism, either. I have preached some bad sermons in my time. I suggest, though, that our congregations should be the judge of our preaching and not the lectionary people. Furthermore, I would suggest, in opposition to my colleague on the lectionary committee, that excising difficult passages may actually inhibit the preaching of the Good News.

If we consider ourselves to be believers in the Incarnation, we must face the brutal but glorious reality that the Incarnation occurred in the muck and mire of our human existence. God in Christ redeems us in our brokenness and brutality because that is precisely what needs to be redeemed. God did not do a clean-up job before the Incarnation; the Incarnation occurred in the midst of a mess. I suggest that we need to approach the Scriptures through this same incarnational lens. The Scriptures speak of and to the muck and mire of our world, and often times reflect it. The question to ask these difficult texts is the incarnational question: What does a belief in the Incarnation teach us as we approach a difficult text from Holy Scripture. In any given difficult text, what is the human brokenness in search of divine healing? How does the God’s grace provide a context for this story or passage?

Last Sunday, we found ourselves responding to the story of the sons of Jacob selling their brother Joseph into slavery with, “Thanks be to God.” But as I pointed out before I began my sermon, the Psalm appointed for the day was a portion of Psalm 105, which sung about the wonderful works of God through Joseph in Egypt and ends with an “alleluia!” I tried to make it clear that our “Thanks be to God,” is only uttered in the context of the whole story in which God’s grace is revealed. The psalm provided this context. In this instance, the lectionary editors got it right – a difficult text was included, but given its proper context. What we learn is the truth that even in (and especially in) the muck and mire of our human existence God can work mighty acts of grace. This is the reality of the Incarnation.

There are, of course, those passages that are difficult and seemingly without context. Sometimes, we simply need to name the horror of the text and stand in silence before it. This is, of course, why we value our tradition of preaching. It is the task of the preacher to help the congregation interpret the text, understand its difficulties and perplexities, live within the tension of certain texts, and most importantly, to proclaim the Good News of God in Christ in the text.

The Revised Common Lectionary offers us grand possibilities and a wide selection of Scripture over the three-year cycle. Indeed, as Anglicans we are reading more Scripture than ever before (much of the Old Testament was left unread in the old BCP lectionary). We have the opportunity to follow large pieces of text sequentially, week after week, as well as hear thematic selections at particular points during the festivals and seasons of the Church Year. Believe it or not, as mainstream Christians, through the gift of the lectionary, we actually read and hear much more Scripture in worship than many of our Evangelical brothers and sisters! Yet, the lectionary is not without flaws. I believe the courageous preacher will address these gaps and take up the task of preaching the difficult pieces of Scripture that have been excised, and work toward their inclusion in the difficult journey that we call the way of faith.

Copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

On Reaffirming Our Faith

2008-08-08T14:27:00.002-04:00

During these summer months I have decided to move away from the prescribed Daily Office readings and instead read a chapter from Paul during each of my prayer times. I have been moving through the Epistles in canonical order and have found this a most edifying discipline. As parishioners and regular followers of my sermons page will note, since June, I have been preaching on Romans. The daily reading of Paul, combined with reflection and research on the texts for my Sunday homilies has helped me consider the importance for Paul of turning to Christ in our moments of crisis. I have preached on this subjected much, of late, and from several angles.

Several key themes have emerged – decision, community, being alive to God, not being ashamed of the Gospel, amongst others – and I suppose what I find most exciting about reading Paul, and particularly Romans, is the challenge he lays before us. It is essentially a reworking of that old deuteronomic admonition: I set before you life and death, choose life! For we live in a wonderful but broken world and we can choose how we shall live in it. It is a world that is so imbued with the imprint of divine love and yet it is a world that fails to recognize the beauty bestowed upon it by our creator. It is a world that paradoxically seeks after the divine and simultaneously rejects any authentic encounter with the God who both consoles and challenges.

But what does it mean, in Christian terms, to choose life? I suppose the most poignant thing that we learn from Paul, and especially in his letter to the Romans is that we, in and of ourselves, are unable to do what God alone can do, namely, bring about the reconciliation of the world to God. This goes for each of us as individuals, for our communities, and for the human family as a whole: strive as we might, God alone, in Christ Jesus, is the one who transforms human hearts, brings about reconciliation amongst peoples, and transforms us into his likeness; it is not we, ourselves.

What then are we to do? As I understand it, from my reading of Paul, we are to turn to Christ, put our whole trust in him, and follow him as our Lord. This is what it means for a Christian to “choose life.” Traditionally, turning to Christ has been a phrase that has been appropriated by Evangelicals and members of the "religious right" to speak specifically, and only about our moment of conversion. While I certainly believe that this can, and might very well be the most poignant moment in many lives, a moment in which one experiences God first time, I have tried to suggest over these past weeks, and I believe that in doing so I am faithfully presenting the position of Paul the Apostle, that “turning to Christ” is something that we must continually do, especially in our moments of crisis, change, and even triumph. Choosing life is something that we must do again and again, and to choose life, we must choose Christ.

We are each faced with moments in which we know that we cannot do it on our own, no matter how hard we work or strive. Perhaps you or someone you love is facing a chronic or terminal illness; perhaps you have been engaging in intensive psychotherapy and confronting the demons of your past; perhaps you are facing frightening decisions about beginning, ending or changing your employment; or facing decisions about discontinuing the life support of a family member; or going through one of those difficult life transitions in which your whole world has been turned upside down. These are moments when we are apt to meet God if we simply put our whole trust in him.

Then there are the moments of joy in which we realize that God has walked with us and that is only by his grace that we are where we are. It may be the joy of the gift of new life in the birth of child; or perhaps the joy of fulfillment and sense of relief after making the risky, but correct decision about a life change; or maybe the opening of a door when one has closed; or simply the emerging reality that God has walked with us and carried us to the other side of our sea of troubles.

These are all “moments of conversion” in which we have the potential to see that God in Christ has transformed our lives and set us on the path of life. These are moments when joy comes out of suffering and meaning out of chaos. And to respond to these moments by recommitting ourselves to seek and serve Christ all our days is, I believe, the truth at the heart of the Gospel preached by St. Paul.

In the Church we have a moment in which we can respond to these encounters with the living God. Many will feel that it is appropriate to respond either to the stark conversions that we experience in the midst of crisis or to the gentle unfolding of God’s grace over many years with a re-affirmation of faith. To such an end (or rather, new beginning) we may share in the rite of Confirmation.

Confirmation is a moment in our shared liturgical life when baptized Christians who have had an encounter with the living God choose to make the vows of their baptism their own, perhaps for the first time, or perhaps for the hundredth time. It is a moment in which our bishop lays hands upon the Christian person and confirms for them what they already know to be true, that they share in the apostolic faith of our fathers and mothers, in the gospel of our Salvation – that in Christ, they have chosen life. It is a moment in which individuals stand in the midst of the community and say “yes”, once again, to following Christ as their Saviour and obeying him as their Lord. It is a moment in which all our moments with our Lord coalesce into an affirmation of faith that is a witness to our broken and hurting world that hope is not destroyed, that death is not the final story, and that Christ is indeed Risen, restoring life, releasing us from the captivity of meaninglessness existence, releasing us from fear, from death and calling us forth to share this Good News with the God’s beautiful but broken world.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This text may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

In Search of a Passionate Spirituality

2008-07-31T15:18:00.003-04:00

As churches in this diocese have engaged in a self-evaluation process called Natural Church Development it has become clear that surveyed Anglicans feel that they lack a “passionate spirituality.” “Passionate spirituality” is one of several categories under which survey responses are collated and evaluated using this valuable assessment tool. While churches have high scores in a variety of other areas such as worship, small groups, leadership and effective structures. There has been a general concern that Anglicans across this diocese are not spiritually engaged. In the parish in which I serve as Assistant Curate, “passionate spirituality” has certainly been one of our weaker rankings. With parishes in our dioceses fairly consistently ranking “low” in “passionate spirituality,” a recent clergy conference was held with “passionate leadership” as its theme. The call has gone out to work on these results.

While tools such as the NCD survey are quite useful in taking the pulse of our congregations and determining strengths and weaknesses, I sometimes worry about the next steps. NCD suggests that we must use our strengths to build on our weaknesses. I can certainly see this as a valuable assumption. For example, if one of a church’s strength is in its small groups (be they social groups, women or men’s groups, parish meetings, or support groups), this strength can be used to build on a weakness such as a lack of passionate spirituality by introducing a spiritual component to such groups, particularly the social groups (i.e., opening with prayer, ending with compline, including a short bible study or spiritual reflection). This is one approach that we have taken at Holy Trinity and it has begun to bear some fruit. However, if we mistake the implementation of programs and new congregational methodologies for an encounter with the living God, we will continue to miss the mark when it comes to developing a passionate spiritual life. We will never work our way into a relationship with God simply because a relationship with God is built on our willingness to respond to the call of God in our lives, and ultimately, to make the decision to say “yes” to God, when the world around us encourages us otherwise.

In no way am I intending to disparage the many wonderful programs available to churches for Christian education and spiritual development, nor do I wish to denigrate any of the many excellent congregational development methodologies currently being applied (indeed as a bookseller I heartily recommended and endorsed many of these very programs and methodologies, and as an educator and priest I have used many of them and even developed some), but these are tools intended to assist in the proclamation of the Gospel, not replace it. A program is not and can never be the answer. The answer is an encounter with the living God in Jesus Christ.

Passionate spirituality is not something that can be “worked up.” We can spend time and money on programs, run them faithfully, and at the end of the day people may or may not feel that they have a deeper Christian faith than when they started. We can offer prayer at the beginning and ending of church meetings, we can make people feel more at home and welcome in our church buildings, we can effectively manage the finances, but unless people give themselves over to the Gospel, there can be no passionate spirituality.

I address this issue in my homily for Proper 18 (click here to view). The Christian life is about a series of decisions – decisions rooted in claiming and reaffirming the decisions made in our baptism. In one way, this is a solitary task. The community can uphold and support us, nurture us, teach us, love us, but cannot make our individual decisions for us. It is up to each of us to decide for ourselves if we will continue to walk in the way of Christ day-by-day. When faced with crises in our lives, when faced with angst over our own frailty, humanity, sinfulness, and mortality, we must ultimately make a decision. Will we decide that we can do it without God or do we turn to Christ who will work in us that we may grow into the image and likeness of the one who created us? If, after crisis upon crisis and decision upon decision we choose to walk alone rather than with Christ, if we choose ourselves over Christ, our ways over Christ’s ways, then we shall be a spiritually vacuous people and no amount of bible study or prayer, no program or church growth paradigm, will help us.

In each day of our lives, again and again, in the small things and in the grand things, in the details and in the epic crises that confront us, we are called to turn to Christ. We are called to risk losing all. We are called to look Jesus in the face and ask, “Who are you calling me to be in this decision that I need to make? Who do you want me to be as a result of this crisis?” We are called to put our whole trust in his grace and love and follow him (and not ourselves, our whims, our egos, our programs and paradigms) as Saviour and Lord. If we are willing to meet our Lord, it will not be under our own power that we grow in our spiritual life, but by his love and grace He shall make us a passionate people.

Copyright 2008 by The Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express written permission of the author.

Book Review Page Added

2008-06-24T14:01:00.002-04:00

To my readers:

I have added a new Book Review page to this site. You can visit the site by clicking on the link in the right-hand column of this page. I intend to publish about one book review per month and offer reading suggestions from time-to-time. I have moved the "currently reading," and "recently read" lists to that page, as well.

As always, I welcome your comments and (as with this page and my sermons page) you are free to post them.

Sincerely,

The Rev. Daniel F. Graves

The Problem with Spirituality; or, Why I’m Not Ashamed to Say that I’m Religious

2008-06-04T17:14:00.002-04:00

It seems to be all the rage these days to claim to be spiritual but not religious. In this dichotomy, spirituality is characterized as an authentic searching after a connection with God, whereas religion is characterized as a false way, followed only by spiritually dead institutional dunderheads, who unwittingly succumb through either stupidity or spiritual vacuousness to empty regimes of liturgical banality. On the other hand, spirituality is for those who are enlightened, and in their enlightenment need no mediator between themselves and whatever or whoever they define as “God” (be that the Judeo-Christian God, or a more ethereal “source of being,” or even the universe, itself.). To these post-modern spiritual elites, those who are “religious” have placed their very small God in a very small box and seek to mold him (yes, him) in their own image. Religious people are legalists who are only concerned about the rules and not about a relationship with God. Indeed, do religious people even have a relationship with God at all?

I would suggest, though, that this dichotomy is a false one. In fact, I would dare suggest that spirituality is a part of religiosity. The word “religion” can be understood on two levels, collectively and particularly. For example, in its collective sense, we can speak of the “religion of Jesus,” as being Judaism of the Second Temple period. This would be the religion to which Jesus would have belonged, i.e., his religious affiliation. At a more precise level of classification, we can also speak of the “religion of Jesus” in the particular sense, namely, the content of the particular beliefs, way of life, and understanding of God of the individual man Jesus of Nazareth. This would be an examination of how Jesus, in particular, lived out his life and as a Second Temple Jew. In either case, we might ask that given the religion of Jesus what did his spirituality look like? Thus, to me at least, spirituality is a subset of the question of religion. Even in its particular sense, religion is always relational and always involves the community.

In religion, I suggest that we find three components: Faith or belief; the experience of God; and a life ethic lived out. Spirituality is the second component in which we as both individuals and as a community, through and experience of God, appropriate the faith and beliefs learned and bequeathed in community and bring that faith into action for the building up of the community and the world.

Thus, religion is an entire way of life that includes belief in the content of faith, the experience of the divine, and faith lived out. A religious life makes us accountable to ourselves, to our faith community, to fellow humankind, and ultimately, to God. While I do not mean to suggest that we cannot, or will not have individual experiences of the Spirit of God, which may be very personal and individual in our experience of them, rather I suggest that these experiences are for the building up of God’s kingdom.

A friend of mine sometimes teaches a course entitled the “Spirituality of the New Testament.” When he explained the course to me, it was clear that it was really about the “religion of the New Testament,” (spirituality be a part of what was studied). He lamented that it was difficult to get the students to engage academically using any critical skills because all they wanted to talk about was how THEY FELT about the subject. Because the course was a spirituality course, they felt that the subject matter was automatically subjective and that no one could question anything that they said (least of all the professor) because that meant their spirituality was being criticized – it was their spirituality, after all, who had any right to comment on it? The poor professor felt like it was impossible engage the material deeply or for the class to grow in understanding the subject matter. As such, their insistence on their own subjectivity inhibited not only their academic growth but also their spiritual growth. Most importantly, it became impossible for them to grow as a community.

To my mind, this story confirms that most people think of spirituality as a private, individual affair that is beyond the critique of community. Yet, I ask, how does one begin to grow in the spiritual life if they are not in conversation with fellow human beings who themselves are seeking to understand their own spiritual lives? Like love, a spirituality that is selfish can never grow and mature. We must also wonder if a selfish spirituality is even a spirituality at all.

St. Paul reminds us in I Corinthians that yes, there are many spiritual gifts, but there is one Spirit who gives them. However, these gifts amount to nothing if they are not used and offered in concert with the gifts given to other members of the community. The spiritual life is a sacred symphony, not a solo act. It is in sharing the gifts of our spiritual life in community that we learn to test the spirit and indeed learn if the spirit with which we commune is the Holy Spirit of God or some other force, even our own selfishness that seeks to draw us from the love of God. We test the Spirit in community, and in doing so we test our motives for seeking a spiritual life at all.

Any gift from God is given for the building up of the community, and so it is with the gift of faith. Faith teaches us about a God who reaches out to us in Christ, and acts to bring about transformation and hope not only in my life but also in the lives of others. And what is more, God invites us, in faith, to participate in this work of the transformation of the world. The building up of the Kingdom of God is not the work of one individual, but the work of Christ. We are invited as members of his body, working as part of a holy organism, a sacred symphony, to do our part to the edification of the whole. If one stumbles another support, if one mourns, another comforts. And likewise, is there not something wonderful to journey together in joy and excitement in moments of wonder and beauty. We were created for relationship and in relationship with walk through the sorrows and joys of this life. In relationship we seek the meaning of our lives. In relationship we seek to understand and serve God.

The more we learn about a God who seeks a relationship with us, the more we come to understand that it is God’s deep longing that we grow in our relationship with each other. For in experiencing and walking together in those moments of pain and joy, we come to recognize that Christ journeys with the community as a constant companion, yet Christ is not only a companion on the way, but a shepherd of our souls and captain of our lives. In our shared sense of what the Spirit is saying, not simply to us as individuals, but as the Church, we discern who God is calling us to be for a hurting and broken world. When we realize that the way of Christ is not a way that points to self, but rather to self-offering, we come face-to-face with the stark reality that a spirituality that only involves me can never be a Christian spirituality. A Christian spirituality is a spirituality rooted in community and all its challenges. It is a spirituality that is rooted in reconciliation, and thus it can be quite messy and require great courage at the confrontation of our darkest fears and deepest estrangements. It is a spirituality that is rooted in hope – a hope beyond my soul alone, but for every human soul. It is a spirituality that is rooted in dignity; the dignity of every human being, whether I like them or not. Most poignantly, authentic Christian Spirituality is shaped by our faith – faith learned in community, through the community – and shapes a way or rule of life that makes us participants in the divine work of the Kingdom. Authentic Christian spirituality animates the life of the people of God and is the means through which faith becomes action. When faith becomes action through the work of the Spirit of God, this is the religious life. It cannot be done without God or without God’s people.

Thus, I cannot for the life of me see how it can ever be enough to simply advocate a “me and God,” or “me and the universe” spirituality. To do so is to abdicate responsibility as part of the created order as part of a human race and ultimately, to embrace a spirituality of loneliness. We grow physically, emotionally, psychologically because we are part of a community who nurtures and cares for us (and for whom we offer mutual care). Without a community we will not grow into maturity. And so it is in our spiritual life. A spirituality that asserts simply “me and God” will never be a mature spirituality, nor will it make much of a difference to a broken world. To have a religion, to share a faith, to walk as part of a “way of faith,” in the shared experience of the life of the Spirit, is the road not only to individual spiritual maturity but the maturity of our shared life as the people of God.

Copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, without the express, written consent of the author.

Anglican Book Centre to Publish Collection of Healing Prayers

2008-05-07T11:31:00.006-04:00

I am pleased to announce that ABC Publishing (The Anglican Book Centre) will be publishing an anthology of healing prayers that I have been collecting for some time. Prayers for Healing in the Anglican Tradition is a collection of healing prayers from official prayer books from around the Anglican Communion. The tentative release date is January 2009, pending the securing of rights and permissions from the respective copyright holders. My hope is that clergy, lay visitors, lay anointers, those involved in prayer chains, those leading the prayers of the people, or simply anyone involved in the healing ministry will find this book useful. The collected prayers are grouped thematically (e.g., general collects, prayers for recovery, for those facing chronic or terminal illness, those facing depression, those preparing for surgery, etc.). Each section is introduced with a short series of "pastoral considerations." The book's Introduction gives a short history of the healing ministry, how Anglicans are seeking to reclaim the healing ministry to the "mainstream," and oultines a theology of healing as a ministry of "wholeness" rather than simply seeking a cure. The book concludes with appendices containing suggested scriptural readings, suggested psalms, and a litany of healing. Updates will be posted on this website in the near future, including updates on the publishing date, the price and availability, and a launch party. Prayers for Healing in the Anglican Tradition is tentatively priced at $13.95 Cdn., aprox 96 pp, and will be available through your local diocesan bookstore, The Anglican Book Centre/Augsburg Fortress, or your favourite independent bookseller.

The Secular Observance of Religious Holidays

2008-04-09T14:31:00.004-04:00

It was recently found that York University’s long-time custom of canceling classes on specific Jewish holy days is discriminatory against other faith groups. As a student at York in the early nineties, it never occurred to me that such a practice might be construed in this way. Indeed, as a member of the so-called dominant culture, which forced its Christian holidays on all other faith groups, I thought this practice a good one, given the number of Jewish staff and students at the university in those days.

Given current demographic studies of students, faculty and staff, I now understand how a practice that was meant to extend fairness has ultimately limited it. I believe that it is high time that this country abandons the practice of honouring the religious holy days of some religious groups at the expense of others. My wife is a teacher in a local school board that allows days of “religious observance” to be taken by its staff. While there is always some negotiation around what constitutes a day of “religious observance,” I believe the practice of allowing faith groups to take their own days to be a sound one and one that should be embraced by public institutions and private corporations alike. However, the problem remains that certain Christian days of observance continue to be legislated statutory holidays. I believe that no religious group should receive the privilege of government-enforced (or institution-enforced) statutory religious holidays. The fact that this anomaly continues in our society is the result of our Christian-dominated colonial heritage. It is now time that we “de-listed” Christian statutory holidays.

Statutory holidays should be days of “secular observance” in which we celebrate both our diversity and what we hold in common as a society. Statutory holidays should be an opportunity for Canadians to celebrate what it means to journey together in our diversity. They should never be an occasion for one religious group to remind another of their demographic and/or historic dominance over another. I have come to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that fellow citizens of a different faith -- Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, or others -- must take a holiday on Christmas Day simply because that is the way it has always been. If we truly seek to be an inclusive society we will honour all by allowing each group to hold their religious observances with integrity, not forcing the observance of the holy days of one group upon another.

For schools, instead of a two week Christmas Break and one week March Break (often still called the “Easter Break” by many), I suggest that we offer a one week mid-term break in the middle of each of the three school terms, not explicitly tied to the religious holy days of any particular group. Inevitably, from year to year, the “breaks” will coincide with certain days of religious observance for any given group, but the should not be tied to such days.

Christians in general, and Anglicans in particular should lead the way by encouraging their employers and politicians to change the current discriminatory legislation and unfair “holiday” policies related to religious observance. Anglicans should seek to observe the most important days of our calendar, while encouraging fellow citizens to observe the most important days in their own religious traditions.

In the Canadian Anglican tradition, our Book of Alternative Services notes the following Principal Feasts of the Church Year:

Easter Day
Ascension Day
The Day of Pentecost
Trinity Sunday
All Saints’ Day
Christmas Day
The Epiphany

In addition we have two major Fast Days:

Ash Wednesday
Good Friday

I would suggest that all Anglicans consider these days as days of “religious observance” in which time is taken away from the regular tasks of the day to attend a Church service, to celebrate the mystery of our faith, prayerfully engage our Christian journey, and in the case of the two fast days, to engage in self-reflection and acts of repentance.

At the same time -- politicians and business leaders take note -- let us enable our friends of other faith groups to do the same thing according to their own traditions. Passionate engagement in our own faith tradition and tolerance of fellow Canadians of differing faith traditions will serve the building up of this great nation and give us cause to celebrate when we come together in our secular festivities.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, without the express, written permission of the author.

On Article XXVIII

2008-03-27T13:20:00.007-04:00

During a recent meeting of our Lenten series at Holy Trinity, a well-esteemed and highly respected member of the community made the suggestion that the clergy of this parish (and many clergy in the Anglican Church, at large) have either rejected or neglected the Articles of Religion (i.e., The Thirty-Nine Articles). In particular, it was suggested that we were acting in contravention of Article XXVIII, “On the Lord’s Supper.”

I would not presume to speak on behalf of any other cleric, but as the suggestion of neglect or contravention was made publicly to this cleric I wish to issue this public response, on my own behalf.

The Articles of Religion, or as they are commonly known, The Thirty-Nine Articles, are a “set of doctrinal formulae finally accepted by the Church of England in its attempt to define its dogmatic position in relation to the controversies of the sixteenth century.” (F.L. Cross, Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 3rd ed., p. 1368). The Articles, approved by Convocation in 1571, are the culmination a process of a lengthy process of theological reflection and editorial work. Earlier collections of Articles included Ten Articles of 1536, the Forty-Two Articles of 1553, and the Thirty-Eight Articles of 1563. Although individuals and parties within Anglicanism have, from time-to-time, suggested that the Articles function as a kind of “Confession of Faith,” in the same sense as the classic Reformed Confessions, this appears to have been neither their intent nor their received usage; instead, they are clearly recognized to be theological summaries of the Anglican position against what were perceived to be both Roman Catholic and advanced Protestant errors of the day. Subscription to the Articles has never been a condition of membership in the Anglican Church and until recent times, only clerics (and until the nineteenth century, members of Oxford and Cambridge as well) have been expected to subscribe to them. The Lambeth Conference of 1968 (Resolution 43) made the recommendation that subscription to the Articles, “be no longer required of ordinands.” The Diocese of Toronto followed this recommendation and clerical subscription to the Articles has not been required for some years.

Yet, the Articles remain an important part of our theological heritage and in many cases still assist Anglicans in our efforts at theological self-understanding. We must always bear in mind the tenor of the times in which they were formulated, and yet, we must also carefully consider our arguments if we seek to move beyond, outside, or against the theology of the Articles. We must always remember that the Articles are not a “systematic” theology of Anglican thought, but short doctrinal statements, most of which allow a breadth of theological interpretation.

But the question will remain, even if I, as a priest in the Church, am not legally required to subscribe, uphold, or assent to the Articles of Religion, have I actively taught against them? I do not believe that I have. Since this suggestion was made in particular with respect to Article XXVIII, I propose to examine the Article in some detail against my own thought, practice, and what I have consistently taught about the Eucharist, to investigate whether or not I have indeed neglected or rejected this Article of Religion.

The text of the Article states in full:

XXVIII. Of the Lord's Supper.
The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another, but rather it is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ's death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.

Transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of Bread and Wine) in the Supper of the Lord, cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of a Sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions.

The Body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner. And the mean whereby the Body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper, is Faith.

The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was not by Christ's ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up, or worshipped.

I find nothing in this Article to which I – as both a baptized Christian and a Priest in the Church of God – might object. In the first paragraph, the Article clearly articulates both the communal and mystical nature of the sacrament. As Christians, we gather, in love, around our Lord’s Table. In faith we do indeed receive Him in the breaking of the bread and partaking of the cup. This first paragraph clearly rules out what Brian Gerrish (see Brian Gerrish, The Old Protestantism and the New: A Study of the Fundamental Religious Ideas of the Reformation and Their Relationship to Liberal Protestantism, New York: Continuum, 2004, pp 120ff) has called Symbolic Memorialism, a view held by Zwingli (in his earlier Eucharistic thought) and the Radical Reformation. In this particular school of thought, the Eucharist is a memorial in which symbols are used to evoke remembrance of Christ’s act, but “the Spirit needs no vehicle, least of all material” (Gerrish, 130). The Article clearly rules out this position and states that in worthy receiving we actually receive the body and blood of the Lord.

If am guilty of anything, it might be that I err on the side of receptionism. Reception has always been an important part of Anglican Eucharistic theology. Cranmer sought to encourage reception as the crucial component of the Lord’s Supper (after all, a meal is first and foremost about partaking and the benefits thereof). Worthy reception, or reception in faith finds its roots in 1 Corinthians 11:27 (it is of course, one of the great ironies of Anglican Eucharistic theology that this injunction might be, in part, a cause of infrequent Communion, due to the presumed “unworthiness” of communicants in general). My preference, when administering Communion, is to use the words of the 1559 Book of Common Prayer:

“The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life: take and eat this, in remembrance that Christ died for thee, and feed on him in thy heart by faith, with thanksgiving.”

I prefer this next not because I believe or think that other “words of adminstration” (in particular those of the BAS 1985) are deficient. I do not; rather I prefer the 1559 wording because of the didactic quality of the words. First, in administration, the words affirm that the bread and wine are indeed the body and blood of the Lord (as in Article XXVIII); secondly, they suggest the spiritual effect of eating/drinking, namely nourishment unto eternal life; and finally, in concord with Article XXVIII, that reception is done “in faith” (“feed on him in thy heart by faith, with thanksgiving). The words are didactic and expressive of the theology of this Article. They speak against the Symbolic Memorialism of the Radical Reformers and point to a real encounter with Christ in the sacrament, whether or not we choose to use such a controversial phrase as “real presence.”

If the first paragraph has served to rebuke the Radical Reformers, then the second paragraph stands against what were perceived to be the abuses of the Medieval Roman Catholic Church. While in modern ecumenical dialogue, we look toward what binds as us rather than separates us, As Anglicans and Romans, in the sixteenth century, this was not the case: The language here is strong and polemical. However, what binds us with our brothers and sisters of the Roman Communion is that we both believe we truly meet our Lord in the Sacrament, what separates us is the “how.” As I read it, this Article denies that the bread and wine change in substance; and as I understand it, Roman Catholic Eucharistic theology teaches that the bread and wine actually become in all ways, except appearance (i.e., everything about it changes except “the accidents” or appearance) the body and blood of our Lord. While the Anglican Church has traditionally avoided transubstantiation, a diversity of opinion exists as to what exactly happens to the elements, materially.

The phrase, “given, taken and eaten … only after an heavenly and spiritual manner,” in the third paragraph, while at first glance apparently specific and restrictive, is open to wide interpretation. The Article does not define what “heavenly” and “spiritual” might mean. Nor does is restrict a localized “heavenly” or “spiritual” presence in the elements. Therefore, we must ask what other views prevailed during the period, to which the Article might be referring? Brian Gerrish has isolated two further views that are found in the Reformed Confessions of the day. The first is Symbolic Parallelism (perhaps embraced by the later Zwingli, and certainly embraced by Bullinger), which suggests “the inward spiritual occurrence is symbolized by an outward eating of bread” (Gerrish, 120). The relationship is not causal, though. This means that the divine nature of Christ is somehow present, but not locally in the elements. Gerrish also draws attention to the more advanced view, usually associated with Calvin, of Symbolic Instrumentalism. Gerrish notes, “in Calvin’s view it is the nature of the Sacraments to cause and communicate what they signify” (Gerrish, 122). Thus, God actually uses the Sacraments in a causal way. Although a localized presence is likely ruled out. It would seem to me that the Article would not disallow either Symbolic Parallelism or Symbolic Instrumentalism as legitimate theological positions with respect to how the Lord is received in the Eucharist, but both Symbolic Memorialism and Transubstantiation are forbidden. This is not surprising to those who suggest that the Articles are represent a Calvinist theological position.

However, it has recently been argued in the scholarship that the Articles, in their genealogy, reflect more of a Lutheran than Calvinist influence. It is beyond the scope of this short response to investigate this claim extensively, but let us assume for the moment that this is an accurate reading of the historical context, we must ask about the Lutheran position of Consubstantiation, as well. As I understand it, Consubstantiation suggests that in the consecrated elements, both the bread and wine and the body and blood coexist together: Thus, allowing a kind of local presence in the elements. It does not appear that Article XXVIII explicitly rules out this position. Indeed, Bishop Edmund Guest, claimed that this Article, “of my own penning,” was not intended “to exclude the Presence of Christ’s Body from the Sacrament, but only the grossness and sensibleness in the receiving thereof” (Letter to William Cecil, December 22, 1566, unsigned but apparently in Bishop Guest’s handwriting, State Papers “Domestic”, Elizabeth lxxviii, 37. I am indebted to Canon David Neelands for this reference). Therefore, it appears that it was not the intent of the framers of the Article to disallow the Lutheran position, either. Neither does the Article itself rule out this position. I believe that it can be claimed with certainty, that the Article allows a wide berth of interpretation with respect to a “theology of presence.” My own position is probably somewhere along the spectrum between Symbolic Instrumentalism and Consubstantiation. Thus, with respect to “Eucharistic Presence,” I do not take myself to have believed or taught anything contrary to the Eucharistic doctrine deemed permissible by Article XVIII.

Finally, there is the matter of the fourth paragraph, which states, “the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was not by Christ's ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up, or worshipped.” Many who characterize what might be termed Anglo-Catholic practice as disagreeable, turn to this statement as evidence of ritualist error. To be sure, our Lord never ordained any of these things. However, there are a good many things -- with respect to our ceremony, polity and theology -- that were not ordained by Christ. As I understand it, Anglicanism has never taught that ceremony, polity and theology may only be regulated by dominical statements or Scriptural precedent. Rather, while the Church cannot teach or expound something contrary to Scripture, it is not bound to base its rites, ceremonies, polity and even its theology (except, perhaps with respect to salvation) solely on what is taught in Scripture. Article XX states:

“The Church hath power to decree Rites or Ceremonies, and authority in Controversies of Faith: And yet it is not lawful for the Church to ordain anything that is contrary to God’s Word written…”

While our Lord did not ordain such things, neither did he forbid them. To some they are edifying, and to many, they are pastorally crucial.

I am no Anglo-Catholic (in principle, I eschew “partyism” in the Church), but it is indeed my own practice to reserve the Sacrament for the communication of the sick. I take this to be a legitimate pastoral extension of the principal act of Sunday corporate worship. Although not practiced by all Anglicans in all times, from personal experience, I can attest that those who receive the reserved sacrament experience not only a communion with our Lord but a communion with the love of the community, which seems to me to be congruous with the understanding of the sacrament expressed in the first paragraph of Article XXVIII.

With respect to elevation and other manual gestures, it is my own practice to elevate the host and cup at certain points during the Eucharistic Prayer, as well as to make certain manual gestures at appropriate places. Even the prayer book included manual gestures (in their simplest forms). I take these gestures to be both didactic (i.e., the gestures seek to elucidate visually the words of the prayer) and dramatic (the gestures allow the congregation to enter into the Eucharist experientially – i.e., the Eucharist is something enacted by the whole people of God). Most importantly though: I do not take these gestures to be, in any way, either mystical or magical. The priest does not have “magic fingers.” It is God that blesses in response to the invocation of priest and people in sacred harmony. The gestures are gestures of prayer in the same way that we teach our children to kneel, or stand, or clasp their hands or open wide their arms. No manual acts or gestures are needed, much less ordained by Christ, but they can be edifying on a variety of levels. I do not believe that I act contrary to Holy Scripture or to the teaching of the Church in this regard (nor in contravention of Article XXVIII) when I elevate the host and cup or when I make manual acts.

There are those Anglicans who would carry the Sacrament in procession and reverence it. The question, of course, is what are they reverencing? If they are adoring our Lord, then all is well. If they are worshiping a piece of wheat or a grape of the vine – in which our Lord is not taken to be in any way present – then I think we are dangerously close to idolatry. However, I do not know a single Christian -- Anglican, Roman, or otherwise -- who believes that they are worshiping a piece of bread or cup of wine. Ask any of them and I believe that they will tell you that they are worshiping Christ our God. The degree to which Christ is present in the sacrament is what is in dispute, of course. My own thinking is simply this: If Christ is truly present in the Sacrament, then, should not I reverence the Sacrament? However, I am always mindful that it is but a sacrament and my adoration is directed to the one who is made present in the Sacrament. My own Protestant sensibilities make me a bit squeamish about carrying the Sacrament about in procession and about devotions to the Sacrament, but I do not disparage the piety of those who engage in such things as I am confident that they in doing so they are adoring Christ and being spiritual edified in their piety.

Thus, with respect to the final paragraph of Article XXVIII, I believe that Christ did not ordain such things, but neither did he forbid them. The framers of Articles clearly held a suspicious view of such practices, but they held them against what they perceived to be abuses by the Roman Church. The article does not forbid such practices but reminds us that they are not of divine but human origin.

Throughout all that I have said above, I have sought to respond to the suggestion by a learned friend that I have rejected or ignored the Articles of Religion in general, and Article XXVIII, in particular. On the contrary, I contend that I have paid very close attention to the Articles of Religion in my own pastoral ministry and theological reflection. I believe that the Articles continue to serve a very useful purpose in Anglican thought and belief. I do not believe that they are immutable, and I do not believe that it is necessarily unlawful to hold a contrary theological position, but I do believe that they are a sound and reputable repository of Anglican teaching. To my knowledge, I have never taught anything to the contrary, nor have I taught or expounded anything contrary to the substance of the Articles themselves, and in particular, contrary to Article XXVIII. If I have, I stand open to correction to which I would submit, most willingly.

Text copyright 2008 by the Rev. Daniel F. Graves. This post may not be reproduced or redistributed, either in whole or part, by any means, without the express, written permission of the author.

Special thanks to the Rev. Canon Dr. David Neelands, and The Venerable Harry Huskins, for assistance in clarifying several points, theological and legal. It shall be noted that the opinions expressed herein are entirely my own.

Reading the Bible -- Part III: Choosing the Right Translation

2008-03-19T11:17:00.008-04:00

For parts I & II of this series click on the links, below:
Part I (click here)
Part II (click here)

If you have ever participated in a Bible Study, the following experience will probably seem familiar to you:

The leader asks you to turn to a particular passage, which you find after some searching. The leader then asks a member of the group to read the passage. As you follow along, it becomes clear to you that you have must have turned to the wrong passage as the reader seems to be reading from a different text altogether. However, you occasionally pick up on some similarities in the text you have in front of you. You begin to realize that you haven’t turned to the wrong page – it just seems like you are reading from different Bibles.

Well, you are; at least from different translations. Choosing the right translation, in accordance with your intentions and goals in reading Scripture can make all the difference.

A Plethora of Translations

When purchasing a new Bible it is easy to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of translations on the market. They are known almost exclusively by acronyms: KJV, NKJV, RSV, NRSV, NIV, NiRV, TNIV, ESV, ASB, NASB, etc. Why are there so many different translations? As a former bookseller, I feel I must let you in on a little secret: Selling Bibles is a business. Bible publishers will promote their own particular translations because they want to capture your business. Do we need this many Bible translations? Probably not, and yet, every couple of years a new translation comes along and it will receive plenty of publicity. It will likely be a decent translation, but for it to be of any use it is important to understand for whom it is translated and intended and what are its goals as new translation. Historically, individual denominations have often favoured their own, or particular, translations. For example, until the Revised Version was introduced in the 1880’s, the translation used by most Anglicans was the King James Version of 1611. It was known as the “Authorised” version because it had been authorized by James I for use in the English Church. In recent years, various translations have emerged as the result of ecumenical collaborations with the hope that broad numbers of Christians will read from the same translation. The Revised Standard Version (RSV) and its descendent, the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) are the work of a mainstream ecumenical translation team. The New International Version (NIV) is also the work of an ecumenical committee, but one of a more evangelical/conservative nature. Translations such as these are generally meant to serve several purposes simultaneously. First, they will have a certain literary cadence that lends to edifying public reading (i.e., The Scripture as read in a liturgy or worship service). Secondly, they will strive for understandability so that the average churchgoing person can understand the text, reading and studying it either individually or in groups. Thirdly, the translation will be a fairly reliable, literal translation enabling scholars, students and preachers to use the text for in-depth study and accurate exegesis.

The “Original Text”

As we consider the plethora of translations available today, it is important to consider “what,” exactly, the text is being translated from. This will come as a surprise to many, but there exists no “original” text of the Bible. What we have are thousands of fragments (some large, containing large portions of Scripture; some small, containing only a few lines of Scripture) from a variety of different eras. Textual scholars collate (compare) the material (largely Hebrew and Aramaic manuscripts for the Old Testament, and mainly Greek manuscripts for the New Testament) and using a variety of scholarly criteria “decide” on what seems to be closest to what the original text might have been. For example, for the New Testament, most translators use an edited Greek text known as UBS4/NA27. This is not to say that the translators are bound to the editorial decision of the textual editors; indeed, they often choose textual variants that seem “better” to them. Some translation committees go back and start from the beginning and establish their own Hebrew and Greek text. In any case, you will begin to see where some translation differences emerge. A good translation will alert you to some of the controversies over what was actually in the original text by providing a footnote for what we call “textual variants.” Such a footnote might read, “some early manuscripts read … (insert variant).” For a good example, turn to the end of the Gospel of St. Mark, which has several alternate endings, and examine the footnotes!

Formal Correspondence and Dynamic Equivalence

Formal Correspondence and Dynamic Equivalence are terms used to identify the “translation philosophy” of the version. Formal Correspondence might be better understood as “literal” or “word-for-word,” (inasmuch as such a thing is possible when translating from one language to another), while Dynamic Equivalence might be better understood as “thought-for-thought” or “meaning-for-meaning.” These two terms represent two ends of a broad spectrum. Thus, any given translation will exist somewhere along the spectrum (and may contain elements of both). For example, the King James Version (KJV) is a literal translation (although using language common to A.D. 1611), while the Good News Bible (or Today’s English Version – TEV) is very much a thought-for-thought translation. The difference is that in the former, the translators will attempt to translate words and phrases into English in quite strict terms, within the realm of what makes sense as a recognizable sentence in the English language; while in the latter, the translators are less concerned with getting every world translated directly, but in capturing (with accuracy) the essence of the sentence or phrase.

Hear is a select list of several translations under each category with date of first publication (with their acronyms in brackets):

Formal Correspondence:
King James Version, or The Authorized Version (KJV), 1611
New King James Version (NKJV), 1982
Revised Standard Version (RSV), 1952
New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), 1985
New International Version (NIV), 1983
New Jerusalem Bible (NJB), 1985

Dynamic Equivalence:
The Jerusalem Bible (JB), 1966
New English Bible (NEB), 1970
Good News Bible, or Today’s English Version (GNB/TEV), 1976
Revised English Bible (REB), 1989
Contemporary English Version (CEV), 1995

Paraphrases

Another class, moving even further beyond Dynamic Equivalence (thought-for-thought), is the paraphrase. Eugene Peterson’s The Message falls in this group. It goes beyond thought-for-thought in that he actually translates ancient idioms into modern idioms. For example, in the parable of the prodigal son in St. Luke’s Gospel, “killing the fatted calf” becomes, “you have ordered a feast – barbequed beef!” Obviously, such versions can help us understand some of the difficult ancient idioms of the original text, but begin to veer, in significant ways, away from the original text. They might be read profitably alongside a reputable literal translation, but I would discourage their regular use as your only Bible version. Another favourite in this category (but now somewhat dated) is J.B. Phillips, The New Testament in Modern English. The selling point of paraphrases is also their major handicap. In trying to capture ancient ideas in modern idiom, the question emerges, “whose modern idiom?” Idiom is such a geographic and cultural phenomenon. And even more significantly, “modern idiom” is prone to rapid change.

Reading Level

In terms of reading level, not all translations are equal. Generally, Formal Correspondence (word-for-word) translations such as the NRSV, RSV, KJV are read profitably by people who have completed a high school education, but may prove difficult for younger readers, those who have trouble reading, and newcomers to the English language. Generally, Dynamic Equivalent (thought-for-thought) translations, such as The Good News Bible and the CEV may be read profitably by those for whom the task of reading presents more of a challenge. These are not hard and fast rules, but should be taken into consideration.

The Public Reading of Scripture

The liturgical context may well dictate the kind of translation used in the public reading of Scripture (i.e., in the liturgy or worship services), but in many cases, and certainly in Anglicanism, the public reading of Scripture is “robed in ceremony.” Thus, Formal Correspondence (word-for-word) translations have generally been the order of the day in choosing a Bible to be read in Church. The NRSV has achieved widespread acceptance (as a descendent of the KJV and RSV) and seems to be the translation of choice for mainstream Protestants. Roman Catholics tend to favour two of their own translations, the New American Standard Bible (NASB) and the New Jerusalem Bible (NJB). Evangelical Protestants have widely accepted the New International Version (NIV) with some using the New King James Version (NKJV), the latter being a version of questionable translation philosophy. For most Anglicans, owning an NRSV will allow an individual who is charged with reading Scripture as part of the liturgy an opportunity to practice ahead of time as well as the ability to engage in edifying personal and group study.

In conclusion, having a few different translations on your shelf will help significantly in broadening your understanding of the biblical text. Having one or two Bibles of each class will allow you to compare difficult passages in your personal or group study. Good Parallel Bibles, which contain a number of translations in parallel columns, can also be helpful (but difficult to read due to the small nature of the print).

I hope that this short series has been helpful in your quest for the right Bible. Please feel free to contact me with further questions or comments. email: fr.daniel.graves@gmail.com