Today we commemorate the falling asleep of the Theotokos – or perhaps more correctly the “apotheosis” of the Theotokos. I use “apotheosis” knowing well that it is a term often associated with Greek and Roman Paganism, however many aspects of the traditional Dormition narraitve paralells imagery of such apotheosis “narratives” as that of Antoninus Pius and Faustina in Rome. The figure, shadow, or soul of the demised is carried aloft into heaven by the gods. There they join the society of the divine – having become divine (or semi-divine) themselves.

The Old Testament gives us similar ideas – Enoch, and Elijah for example are taken up without ever facing Death. Curiously – the Ethiopian version of the Dormition narrative has Mary ask if she will face Death, to which Christ says she must at least look upon him in all his horror – because she is created. Hmmm. . . . so, erm . . . what about Enoch and Elijah eh? . . .

Moving switfly on . . .

Mary looks upon Death and Jesus “catches” her soul and carries her into Paradise. The upper 2/3 of the traditional icon has some striking parallels to the imagery found on for example the column of Antoninus Pius & Faustina, the apotheosis of Sabina, and an ivory plaque of the apotheosis of a philosopher (sorry can’t find a convenient pic of this one).

So what does this all say about us? Well for starters it is Mary who is closely associated with our idea of “theosis” and the spiritual disciplines one develops and practices to achieve theosis throughout life. In her case it was her practice of philosophy – her asceticism – before asceticism became “possible” (as late antique writers such as St. Athanasius often noted) – a feat in itself – that set into motion her preparations for the Annunciation. In short she was the “first” and she points the way. Through her example we are all able to strive toward and achieve theosis. She is the one, who “unlocks” Paradise for us all (Proklos Hom. 4.1). The Dormition then might be best described as Mary’s apotheosis – and her empowering our own.

For God had to manifest himself in a new way – this is how one of the Fathers describes the incarnation. Theophany has come – the manifestation of the Trinity, and of Christ’s purpose in the World. God has come to us in a new way a physical way, one that demonstrates his inexorable solidarity with us, with creation.

This is the feast day on which we celebrate the annual blessing of water – an ancient symbol, with a rich repertoire of meaning. For the moment, however, I want to sit with the idea of the physical presence of water; for Just as God came to us in a new way, a very physical way, we employ this physical substance to restore and refresh the very places where we live, and work, and play. The blessed water brought to our homes, is a conscious bridge between the worship in the temple, and the mundane, and the extraordinary events of our lives; a reminder of how these things converge to shape who and what we are as disciples of Christ.

Finally, let us consider how the blessing of our homes sweeps away the worries and burdens, the anger and resentments, the sickness and despair of the past twelve months. We gather together in one another’s homes to celebrate the blessing of that home – usually with a party – looking forward to a fresh beginning, a clean slate for the coming year.

You will name him Immanuel – which means “God with us”. Curiously the name of the herald of the Good news, Gabriel also means “God with us”. Yet, too often, the model of the mechanics of the Incarnation received is one of misery, shame, and blood sacrifice to a twisted angry deity. Salvation, in this model, is a wholly one-sided affair. Christ bore in his person the entirety of human sin, visualised as his suffering and death on the cross. Jesus became our “scape-goat”. This model leaves one hanging on the question of what happened next? What is more, it cultivates a theology of shame and disgrace – humanity is ugly, depraved, corrupt, an abomination in the sight of God. If that were so – why then did God become one of us? This popular model has another failing, it strips us of any responsibility for realising the gift of salvation, cultivating it into the full flowering of enlightenment. If Jesus is merely a blood sacrifice we have no investment in the project of salvation – no responsibility. We are deprived of our God-given free will, our God-given dignity, and reduced to mere play-things of a mentally unstable deity. It’s all wrong – very wrong!

Throughout the Old Testament the prophets and the Law called Israel to invest in the relationship between God and man. When she did, Israel realised the full benefits of her marriage with God – in tangible ways, freedom, prosperity, peace, and the respect of other nations. Here – at the beginning of our Christian story – it is not “just” God but God and Man, God with us, who enters the arena and sets into motion the essential elements of our liberation from fear, and the oppression of Death. Here, at the beginning of the story, God has invested his whole self his essence (ousia) and invites us to do the same – to be a participant in the process. Through God’s love for us – there is also, respect.

At yesterday’s Liturgy we commemorated the Ancestors of Christ – all those who through faithfulness and wisdom contribute to our understanding the whole story of the immanent Incarnation and our salvation. They have taught us, and we now invite them to join with us in our joyful expectation of the coming Incarnation.

Yesterday’s Gospel – Lk. 14.16-24 – is a curious juxtaposition with the tenor of the commemoration. Here the ones invited, the ones who are expected to enjoy the feast, withdraw, and are then replaced with others who are unknown to the host. “For, I tell you, none of those men who were invited will taste my dinner.” The feast was planned – the invitations went out weeks ago. Invited guests “knew” that they were coming, that they were expected; but who ends up at the table, those who had no idea a feast was prepared, who had no expectation of being invited, let alone attending.

We are faced, it seems, with a paradox, on the one hand a celebration of Israel and her contribution to our (Gentile) enlightenment; on the other, a rejection of Israel in favour of the Gentiles – who were never invited in the first place.

Saturday (6 Dec) we celebrated the feast of St. Nicholas of Myra. For me, this is the “beginning” of the Nativity season. This is the day that we decorate the house – the tree though, does not go up until Christmas Eve – small gifts are given, and we enjoy a good meal with family and friends.

We are now “in” the season that more than any other, emphasises the exchange of gifts. For the next three weeks, many of us will be searching for “the right” gift for a friend or family member, we sometimes go to great lengths to acquire these – as they are a conscious expression of the value we place on those relationships. We have come to associate St. Nicholas with gift giving (and gift receiving), largely due to the many legends of his charity. One, in particular, many of you will be familiar with. A poor widower had three daughters, and was faced with the horrible prospect of selling them into slavery simply to ensure that they would have enough to eat. Over the course of three nights – Nicholas tossed bags of coin through the man’s window, enough for each daughter to have a dowry. Through his gift giving, Nicholas enabled the young women to marry well, and restored the family’s freedom. Nicholas embodies the zeal of the prophet bringing glad tidings to the belittled, healing the broken spirit, bringing relief to captives and releasing the imprisoned.

In three weeks we commemorate an exchange of gifts (humanity and divinity) that transforms a long relationship, and that inaugurates our own personal transformation – here we are the poor young women facing a life of subjugation, freed by an act of charity and love. In the meantime, while we are preparing for parties, and the annual potlatch under the tree, it is I think worth using our experience of the current feast, as a means of preparing for the feast yet to come. The annual commemoration of the works of St. Nicholas offers us just this opportunity – to take the next three weeks and reflect on how, over the past year, we may have been the giver of gifts, and not only the receiver of gifts. I’m not talking about fast abandoned chartreuse turtlenecks, and fancy bottles of distilled yak urine; instead I’m talking about a loaf of bread, a kind word, a visitation, a phone call, a meal, the possibilities for one individual acting alone to positively transform the life of another are endless, and are often very simple. The feast that inaugurates the Nativity season, is a point in the year when we might pause to reflect on how we have been (if we have been) embodying the spirit of St. Nicholas, giving gifts to others; and if we have not been, then what might we do to change that in the coming year.

So, at breakfast this morning we fell into the topic of today being 29 Feb – i.e. a leap year. I’ve seen a few humorous articles in the paper about it in the past week or so but gave it very little thought. Until this morning . . .

As we were musing over it being 29 Feb I wondered out loud – so, is there a feast day today; or is it “blank”? What is more – does the poor sod whose feast day it is only get comemmorated once every four years (bummer!)?

We amused our selves with the possibilities over pancakes and toast. Well it could be a “movable” commemoration. Yes, but then you’d see a note in the meneon about moving it forward or backward. Maybe it is a “saint free day” – in which case the world is ending, news at eleven!

I’ve just pulled out my BDW and lo! There is a commemoration for today. St. John Cassian, a disciple of Chrysostom, who was ordained in Rome, founded two monastaries (one for each gender) in Marseille, where he died in AD 435. He was apparently a rather good writer too (says the bishop tongue in cheek – knowing full well the writings of Cassian)!

Happy feast day everyone! Enjoy it now, you’ll not be able to celebrate again for another four years (unless you live in Marsaille where he’s patron, and commemorated every 23 July).

One of the bigger feasts (it lasts a week) and like many Marian feasts; the Feast of the Presentation is rooted in the 2nd century apocryphal Protoevangelion also known as the Infancy Gospel of James.

As early as Origen this text has been treated as being “canonical by tradition” rather than having been included in the “official” canon of scripture. It’s popularity is evidenced in the fact that very early examples exist in over 11 languages.

Here is an excerpt – relating to the beginning of the Feast (7.4-9):

“When the child turned three years of age, Joachim said, ‘Let’s send for the undefiled Hebrew daughters. Let them each take a lamp and light it, so the chid won’t turn back and have her heart captivated by things outside the Lord’s temple.’ And this is what they did until the time they ascended to the Lord’s temple.

The priest welcomed her, kissed her, and blessed her: ‘The Lord God has exalted your name among all generations. In you the lord will disclose his redemption to the people of Israel during the last days.’

And he sat her down on the third step of the altar, and the Lord showered favour on her. And she danced, and the whole house of Israel loved her.”

Pascha is as much a call to action as it is a dance of victory.

Today, we celebrate the victory of Christ, our champion, who has freed us from the oppression and despair of Death. Unable to achieve victory on our own, Life himself became incarnate, and did battle with Death, on our behalf.

Many will have heard in sermons this feast day, how Christ was the ransom, the “debt” paid for our “sin”. This is popular, and very bad theology. A ransom is handed over in exchange for the liberation of those in bondage. It becomes the property of the one holding the captives. But Christ our champion is risen from the dead, he remains at liberty, and has gained our liberation.

This was no ransom – it was a subtle deception, and a complete route of the power of Death. The “ransom” was the fullness of his human nature, for only the entirety of humanity would satisfy Death’s demand; thus, no individual man could satisfy the demand, or overcome the power of Death. God in his love for us, became incarnate, and presented himself as the ransom before Death, for he could not tolerate such an injustice against his people.

The “flesh” or humanity of the Incarnate One, however, Death could not touch, its incorruption made it the perfect weapon, wielded by the Most High God; Death was taken completely by surprise, he had no chance of victory, over Christ. Death sits upon his haunches in the murky darkness of his abode and bewails his crushing defeat: “Would that I had not received Him who was born of Mary, for he came to me and destroyed my bronze gates, and being God, delivered the souls I had been holding captive. My power has vanished. I received one who died as mortals die, but I could not hold him; with him, and through him, I lost those over which I had ruled. I had held control over the dead since the world began, and lo he raises them all up with him!”

Christ is risen! Indeed he is risen! No man could enter Sheol and return – free. The resurrection is a bold statement of our liberation – in his victorious return from the realm of Death in his body, Christ proves that our liberation is complete; that Death can menace us no more. We are free.

This is only part of the Paschal mystery, as I said, Pascha is as much a commemoration of what has been accomplished for us, as it is a call to action. Today, we too are raised up with Christ. Neophytes are clothed in Christ, and we recall how, emerging from the waters of baptism, the tomb of non-being, reborn in His Image, we are now properly called “Christ”. He is God by nature, through his Incarnation, death, resurrection. Our own baptism – our personal appropriation of that grace and victory, we are reborn gods by grace.

God rises in the divine council, gives judgment in the midst of the gods.
“How long will you judge unjustly and favour the cause of the wicked?
Defend the lowly and fatherless;
render justice to the afflicted and needy.
Rescue the lowly and poor;
deliver them from the hand of the wicked.”
The gods neither know nor understand, wandering about in darkness,
and all the world’s foundations shake.
I declare: “Gods though you be, offspring of the Most High all of you,
Yet like any mortal you shall die;
like any prince you shall fall.”
Arise, O God, judge the earth, for yours are all the nations.

We sing Psalm 82 in the night of Holy Saturday. We may read this, in light of our baptism, and the victory of Pascha, not only as an account of God’s crushing defeat of the ancient Powers, but also as a reminder to us; gods though we are by grace, sons and daughters of the Most High, we are called to bring light into dark places, relief to the poor and the defenceless, or we will die, the death of mortals, returning to the nothingness from whence we were created.

Today we are witnesses of the long expected prophecy: “But for you who fear my name, there will arise the sun of justice with its healing rays; and you will gambol like calves out of the stall and tread down the wicked; they will become ashes under the soles of your feet; on the day I take action, says the Lord of Hosts.” Today, the feast of the resurrection, is that day of action. Christ is risen! Today we are witnesses of the resurrection. This is not the end of the story, merely the beginning.

Jesus entry into Jerusalem is not merely the fulfilment of the prophecies of Zephaniah and Zechariah – nor is this procession purely symbolic, an Adventus if you like. The entry into Jerusalem is the commencement of the last phase of God’s campaign to save his people. This next week, is a time of liminality; that builds in its intensity as the week progresses, and we await with expectation the resurrection.

You might find it odd that I am not using historic tense here – but the fact is, while we commemorate the historic events of Christ’s life and teaching, we are also living them, we are true witnesses of the resurrection; a moment that shapes our way of seeing the world in which we live, and the relationships we enjoy.

Today is just the beginning of the feast, the moment we cross the threshold and take our first steps towards hope and life. Today we commemorate the King of Glory riding on a humble beast, preparing for the battle ahead, when he shall use you, and me “as a warrior’s sword” (Zech. 9.13) to defeat the darkness that oppresses us (Zeph. 3.19). Today we celebrate that the judgement against us has been lifted (Zeph. 3.15), and “none may recount [our] disgrace” (Zeph. 3.18). Today we are “renewed” in his love, as he dances jubilantly with us (Zeph. 3.17). Today is the beginning of our victory with Christ.

During this time of liminality we can see how the disciples’ perception of Christ is not yet fully formed, and would not be until they emerged, crossing the other threshold whole and enlightened. During this time of liminality things appear to be suspended – perception, understanding, even our own sense of self, as we observe the events unfolding, knowing that the narrative tension is building, but to what, and to what end we cannot immediately see. Unlike the first disciples, we have the benefit of knowing the outcome, yet we still, through our liturgies, and through our chosen Lenten disciplines, share in their experience, bear witness to what they bore witness to, and are thus able, if only for a brief moment, to capture their sense of wonderment at the events unfolding before them.

The first disciples did not yet fully understand – indeed they would not, until after they too had witnessed the resurrection, as the Evangelist writes of the entry into Jerusalem (Jn. 12.16): “His disciples did not understand this at first, but when Jesus had been glorified they remembered that these things were written about him and that they had done this for him.” While we enjoy the benefit of historical knowledge of these events, the fact remains that our understanding and perception of Christ is constantly being formed – we have not (as some would argue) understood the whole of revelation. While we are confident in our salvation, we inhabit a liminal space throughout our life as we seek to uncover, and to understand more deeply who God is, and our relationship to him. Thus, for us, sacramental disciples of the Master, every week, every day begins with us stepping over the threshold on one side of a moment, and emerging reborn, and renewed in his love, on the other.

O Lord, wishing to give to your disciples an assurance of your resurrection, you came to the tomb of Lazarus and called to him by name. Then was Sheol despoiled, and released the one that had been four days dead, as he called upon you: ‘O blessed Lord, glory be to you’.
– stichera, vespers

Parallel and foreshadowing are two features of sacramental theology, which emerged very early on. The writings of the Apostle describe Christ as the Second Adam (x), the second century apologists understood Mary as the Second Eve, both working together to restore the fullness of humanity, and our relationship with God. The thinkers of our tradition have historically perceived in the Old Testament images which point to, or foreshadow persons and events that are fulfilled in the Gospels; the burning bush foreshadows the incarnation; the golden serpent, the crucifixion; the closed temple gates through which God alone enters and exits the Temple – the Virgin birth.

Today, we see both foreshadowing and parallelism in the raising of Lazarus; but not between the Old and the New Testaments, rather within, and among the witnesses of the events of the Gospels. The resurrection of Lazarus is a sign of things to come, a token of reassurance for the time when Christ himself would die and be resurrected – a metaphor of hope.

Lazarus fell ill, and died. His sisters were in mourning when Jesus arrived. He and Martha have the following exchange:

Martha – ‘Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.’

Jesus – ‘Your brother will rise.’

Martha – ‘I know he will rise in the resurrection on the last day.’

Jesus – ‘I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’

Martha – ‘Yes Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.’

What follows is Jesus astonishing order to open the tomb, and his calling Lazarus forth by name. The story then, is not just about Jesus death and resurrection, but our own. Just as with the resurrection of Lazarus we find a token of hope for Christ’s imminent victory over Death, so too we find a token of hope and expectation for our own resurrection because we have come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, and that because of his teaching we understand that we too will rise on the last day. We are Lazarus, his experience foreshadows our own, which is yet to be fulfilled.