Christmas 2C

[Nourse Hall, February 2009]

What brought you to church this snowy morning? What compelled you to shovel out, drive through the mush to arrive here to sit on hard pews cushioned by futons? More aptly asked, who brought you here this morning? Can you feel in your heart the words of Psalm 84, ‘How lovely is your dwelling place...’? The Book of Common Prayer words are equally familiar: How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts. The verse continues: My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

My soul — the centre of my breathing and responding to life;

my heart — the centre of my reflection and understanding;

my flesh — my human frame;

indeed, my whole being longs to be near God, the Giver of life.

The passion with which the psalmist writes is akin to that of a lover who has not seen the belovèd for a long time. One senses that every fibre of the psalmist’s being reaches out to God. As one who perhaps has not yet connected with the Belovèd — that is God — the psalmist looks longingly at others who live with God: the sparrow and swallow are fortunate because they dwell near the house of God. Those people who praise and have strength in God are blessed. The psalmist reiterates his trust in God who will give grace and glory and will not withhold good things from those who walk with integrity. Those who trust in God are truly happy and the psalmist wants to be one of those fortunate people.

Psalm 84 is suitable for several transitions in life… those moments when the soul yearns to be close to God. Certainly one of the most beautiful musical renditions of this psalm is in Brahm’s German Requiem, written in memory of his mother. The universal desire to dwell in God’s courts spans the course of a lifetime from youth, to midlife, to death.

What follows is a meditation on Psalm 84, as experienced in one priest’s life in a particular parish, this one, in the month that we have annual meeting and in which she celebrates her 16th anniversary of ordination to the priesthood. Perhaps parts of this reflection can resonate with your experience and love of this place called Trinity.

How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts…

Some of us get to spend more time in God’s dwelling place than others. Certainly I have. Being able to putter prayerfully is a perk of being a priest in a parish (how’s that for a tongue-twister?). I have the opportunity to be in here by myself, walking around, setting up, just being. Some of you do, too, by virtue of serving in choir, altar guild, as chalice bearer or lay eucharistic visitor. There is something wonderful about having a holy space when it is empty and quiet because one realises that it really is not. It is filled with people’s prayers. It is filled with God’s spirit. And so part of my week is spent wandering around the church and chapel, taking in your prayers, your presence and God’s spirit. It is all part of being the priest in partnership.


My heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

Up at Saint Mary’s in Northfield, in the summertime on the hot days, I would go over to the naturally cool church, kick off my sandals at the door and walk in barefoot… the way many faiths direct their believers to do when entering sacred space. I could feel the holiness of the church seep in through the soles of my feet. I have adapted this habit to here as well. Try it sometime. I won’t mind. God won’t mind.

By the same token, I would sometimes pray, sitting on the floor in front of the altar. I’ve placed tea candle votives on the floor in front of our high altar once or twice. It is striking (and safe) and reminds me of the countless churches in Spain and France I visited on the Camino. As I said in my sermon last week, the candles people had lit and left behind spoke of prayers that the rest of us could see. And so I invite you to linger sometime in the chapel, that glorious space made more relevant during Christmas tide by the frieze that contains the words to the prologue to the Gospel of John. Light a candle, leave a prayer, write something in the book by the votives, look at the icon of Mary and Jesus.

Now, we are about to test all this nice talk about the loveliness of God’s dwelling place by our annual migration to the chapel and parish hall. The two early services will still be in an obvious ‘church-y’ place whereas the late service will be in Nourse Hall. I am aware that this move is difficult for some and that some even stay away during the winter months because they feel they cannot worship in such a strange place. Perhaps it is less upsetting to me because I started worshipping in Nourse Hall five weeks after I arrived here last year; perhaps, too, because from age 3-12 I worshipped either in a parish hall or in the all-purpose room of my elementary school. I learned from an early age on that God’s spirit could be found wherever one is as long as one is part of the church, the body of people called together, the ecclesia, those called out in God’s name.

Happy are they who dwell in your house! They will always be praising you.

We are called to be the church. Together we make up part of the spirit that resides in God’s dwelling place. Just as God’s spirit, God’s shekina, the animating force dwells within each one of us, so it also dwells in the body as it comes together for prayer and to break bread. That force will fill our hearts whether we are in the church or in the chapel or in Nourse Hall because it will be God’s presence made manifest by our prayer.

Happy are the people whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on the pilgrim’s way.

One benefit of our moving to Nourse Hall is that the church body can regain consciousness of the rest of this building complex. I sometimes wonder if the majority of the congregation knows just how much happens here outside of Sunday morning worship? You’ll find out about the amazing activity in the annual report but suffice to say that a lot of people go in and out of these doors, use this parish hall whose faces do not show up here on Sunday morning (we might ask why sometime).

Those who go through the desolate valley will find it a place of springs, for the early rains have covered it with pools of water.

So many people come through these doors seeking emotional and spiritual solace. As the economy has gone further and further south, more and more people come seeking aid. Discerning who really needs it and who might be scamming us is probably the hardest part of being in a church or social organisation. Our parish secretary does a heroic job of working through the requests, referring the many to BROC, pointing those who are in emotional distress to my office and gently turning away those whose stories sadly do not ring true.

But people also come to this place for company, fellowship, prayer and a gentle word. Much of parish ministry consists of just being present in the moment, never knowing who might come through the door but certain that we entertain angels unawares and that any one of those people seeking solace might be Jesus.


For one day in your courts is better than a thousand in my own room…

There is no church of one. We can pray alone at home, outdoors, in whatever place we call sacred but finally we need to come back together. This community, the church, is a sanctuary where we can become vulnerable and search for deep intimacy with God.
No good thing will the LORD withhold from those who walk with integrity.

As you and I walk through the seasons together, joined by prayer and communion, we will find that spiritual intimacy for which our souls so yearn. We can have the courage to wrestle with the difficult questions, feel safe to be ourselves unvarnished, allow ourselves to become vulnerable so that we can risk that deep encounter with God.

We have the promise of spiritual intimacy through regular participation in the worship of this community. By coming together week-in, week-out, through the sustenance of the eucharist, we are able to live in the tension of the worlds of Monday-Friday 9.00-5.00 and the Sanctuary.

We come to this table for solace and strength, for pardon and renewal to become one body, one spirit in Christ so that we may worthily serve the world in Christ’s name. Through the eucharist, our soul, heart and bodies can connect with our Belovèd. With that connection made, we can then go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.

How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts.

Yes.