At St. Brigids, we practice a “shared homily” or sermon.
The time of reflection is invited by the bell, leading into a period of silence and stillness. A designated preacher offers their prepared reflections on the week’s appointed readings from the Bible.
After another time of silence and stillness invited by the bell, members of the community are invited to help complete the homily by adding their own reflections. These sermon archives only reflect the jumping-off point for our shared homily, and don’t reflect the depth and breadth of reflection shared by our community.
The crowds have figured out that Jesus’ movement will not culminate in a Festival of Hope (for some) while casting others to the curb.
It’s complicated to try to stand together. It can be difficult to make space for even those with whom we disagree.
God is not done with us even when all that’s left is a dimly burning wick
Epiphany is everywhere. God continues to astonish and reveal God’s self in new and unexpected ways all the time – if only we had the time to pay attention.
It’s as though each year at this time we imagine that we get the chance to start all over again with a lovely clean slate, and a rose-tinted view of the Incarnation.
For me and so many others who have been watching and on the front lines of the fentanyl crisis in the Downtown East Side, we too are waiting.
This Advent I’m waiting for peace. I’m waiting for the Peaceable Kingdom, where the clothes I wear are not embedded with risk of loss of life and limb, with unpaid overtime, sexual harassment and gender-based violence as they are now.
The Incarnation shows me what I could never have seen otherwise – that falling in love is a commitment to the unknown, a rushing of up of the Earth to meet me where I am.
We see the cross through the lens of love, to help us see how senseless our thirst for violence is.
This week, St. Leonard of Montreal leaves us to Isaiah, the prophet of old, to dance us through the panic
till we’re gathered safely in.