God Above Comes As A Dove: A Homily for the Second Sunday of Epiphany

 Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, Anglican Diocese of Toronto, 18 Januarey, 2026, the Second Sunday of Epiphany.  Texts for this day:  ISAIAH 49:1-7; PSALM 40:1-12; 1 CORINTHIANS 1:1-9; JOHN 1:29-42

And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him’ (Jn 1.32)

How many of you have a birdfeeder outside your house?   How many of you have two?  Or three?   We currently have three on the go, and keeping them stocked is an expensive job, especially if you shop at one of those fancy bird stores.   We don’t mind the expense.  Someone once said that birdfeeders are basically TV for old people, and I won’t deny that we’ve reached that point in life.   There’s something about the fragility of small birds, especially in the winter, the joy of seeing their quick movements and colours, and the satisfaction that comes from providing for them.

I think we feel a connection to wild birds that’s perhaps a closer connection to nature than we get from our house pets.  Wild birds, like the other creatures we see on hikes in the forest, are in their proper environment,  they are truly part of nature, or as people of faith would say, they are one with God’s creation.

My mind has been going in this direction with our gospel reading today because of the dove and the other nature imagery (thanks to Cody Saunders for noticing this - https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/second-sunday-after-epiphany/commentary-on-john-129-42-7)

John the Baptist testifies that “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him”.    The dove is a common feature of all four accounts of Jesus’ baptism, though in this gospel, we don’t see the baptism,  we just hear John the Baptist describe it.  However, all four gospels describe the Spirit of God being present all say that it was  like a dove.  The Greek word translated as like, hõsei, is an adverb that is often used for similes (something is described by a comparison to something else).   For example, when Jesus sees the crowd in the wilderness, they are described as being “like/as sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9.36).

So why am I geeking out about a Greek adverb?   Because similes, working as they do, suggest that X is sort of like Y, but is really X.   So in the case of the dove, is it actually a dove, or is it just the Holy Spirit in a dove costume?    Again I hear you thinking, why is this important?    I think it’s important because it leads us to think about something we’ve heard about quite a bit over Christmas, the Incarnation, where as John’s gospel puts it, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

If I say to you, Jesus was just God pretending to be human, then to me at least, it makes it all sound a bit of a cheat.  If Jesus was just masquerading as human, why did he need to be born as a human, did he really die on the cross, and was he really resurrected if he was never really dead?   On the other hand, if Jesus as a person of the Trinity actually became human, then I can relate to a God who wants to know what my life and my death are like, and who can understand my human failings and sins and take them away from me.   

So, if the Holy Spirit somehow is a dove, that’s important (at least to me) because it reinforces the connection between God the creator and the created world, what we call nature.   Yesterday, at Sheila Dixon’s funeral, we sang at her request the hymn “All Things Bright and Beautiful”.  That hymn ends with the prayer that we truly see creation and so praise God for making “all things well”.   So if God has made creation and done a good job at it, does it not follow that we God should be invested in it, or even present in it?

There’s a habit in Christianity of saying that everything physical is just a way of talking about the spiritual, but think about how important the natural world is in the stories (and legends) of the Nativity.  Mary rides to Bethlehem on a donkey.   Jesus is laid in a manger, warmed by the breaths of barn animals.   Shepherds come from the hills, lit by a starlight.   Magi come on camels (or whatever their ride was).  Presumably the same donkey carries Mary and Jesus to safety in Egypt.   None of this natural imagery would happen if Jesus has been born in a palace.

Likewise in the baptism accounts, besides the Spirit/Dove, John the Baptist greets Jesus as the “Lamb of God”.   To be sure this a  figure of speech, Jesus is not actually a lamb, but John sees something of Jesus’ role as the pure and sinless sacrifice.  Lambs play a huge role in the Jewish scriptures, from the story of Abraham and Isaac (the ram caught in the thicket) to the lamb’s blood that allows the firstborn of Israel to be spared on the Passover.    Lambs, like doves, are creatures of Temple sacrifice, and their blood speaks to the long and futile quest to deal with human sinfulness through the blood of innocent animals.

Besides animal imagery, there is of course water imagery.   John baptizes with water at the River Jordan, and his ministry is predicted in Isaiah by the promise that God will make a way in the desert and springs in the wilderness (Isa 43.19).  The psalms of course are full of nature and water imagery.  In Psalm 72, for example, God’s reign of justice will be “like rain upon the mown field, like showers that water the earth”.  Abundant water in a desert country is a perfect way to show God’s care and concern for creation.

I think we’d all have to admit that God cares for creation more than we humans do.  I know it’s hard to believe in global warming in the midst of such a snowy winter, but we know that the earth is getting warmer and glaciers everywhere are receding.  Skiing is good here but in Europe the industry is in peril. The seas are getting warmer.  Yesterday the  Economist magazine reported that disease transmission will increase because more mosquito species are developing a taste for human blood.  Why?  Because as biodiversity decreases there are fewer other species for mosquitoes to feed on. So yes, we should be concerned about the fate of the Earth that God gave us.

In Romans 8, there is a famous verse where Paul describes all Creation as groaning for its salvation.  What if we thought of Jesus’ birth not just as God dwelling with us, but God dwelling with all creation?  What if the Spirit becoming a dove in all four gospels is a sign that Jesus is born to save not just us, but all the world?  And if that is truly God’s purpose, shouldn’t attention to creation be our purpose?

In the religions of Jesus time doves and lambs and other sacrificial animals paid the price for human sin.  Today we don’t sacrifice animals for religion, but we still sacrifice entire species for our greed.  Would our attitudes change if we believed that God was as present in the created, natural world as God is present in our lives?

Opening Meditation on God's Healing for the 2026 Après Ski Series

 

Opening Meditation for the All Saints Collingwood Après Ski services for 2026, by Father Michael.

If you joined our series last year, you may remember that the theme of our readings and meditations was on the Holy Family.  Tonight as part of this year’s Après Ski series we begin a series of readings and meditations on the theme of healing and Christian faith.  I’ve asked our clergy team to offer their thoughts and experiences on healing, and I’m looking forward to hearing what they have to say because I am very much not an expert on the subject, and, truth be told, I think that when it comes to healing I am like the man who tells Jesus “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief” (Mk 9:24).

I’ve had lots of experience with illness and with dying, as part of my training and work as a priest and as part of my own life history.   I’ve had no training in healing prayer, and while I’ve met a few people who’ve told me that God has healed their medical conditions, I’ve never been sure how to take these statements.  I believe that they believe they’ve been healed, but part of my rational, sceptical brain can’t help thinking that their stories are more belief than fact.

Where does this scepticism come from?    Partly it comes from what we call the secular, the whole weight of science, medicine, and technology that seems to drive God out of the world and into the corners of our personal belief.    After all, we believe in MRI machines, chemotherapy, psychotherapy, and all the other resources that promise us longer and better lives.    At the same time we have the whole wellness industry, that urges us to improve our bodies and our wellbeing through  healthy diets and  healthy habits.   None of these forces leave much room for God to act in our lives.

And yet, as we shall hear in the readings chosen for this series, Jewish and Christian scripture speaks with one voice to say that God can heal and wants to heal.     In Luke’s gospel, Jesus gives his disciples “power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal” (Lk 9:1-2).   I think many of us, myself included, interpret this broadly, so that healing the world and proclaiming the kingdom of God can be our outreach, our food ministries, our hospitality to strangers and to the lonely.      And indeed these are worthwhile things to do, they are part of our calling as followers of Jesus, but God wants to do more than that, God wants to heal, and heal through us.

Last fall, Rev. Amy led a few of us through a remarkable book by an Avery Brooke, an Anglican layperson.   She describes how a dozen retired women met regularly in Brooke’s Conneticut parish to learn about spiritual healing.    Over time, as they prayed and laid hands on others, remarkable things happened:  hands grew “hot as radiators” and  “small physical, psychological, and spiritual healings were occuring”.   

As Brooke described it, they learned  that making  “room for God … is at the crux of healing.  It is not our compassion that heals, it is God’s compassion.  It is not our words of prayer that heal, it is God using our words and hands and the energy flowing through us”.

I found Brooke’s advice very encouraging, because I think my disbelief is because my own ego, with all it’s learning and scpeticism and my pride in my sophistication can get in the way of God’s work.  We all know that there is a time to live and time to die, and that these times, like our souls, are in God’s hands, but what if there is also a time to  be healed?  

My hope for this series is that we will learn to more deeply appreciate some of the good things that we already do here, like the ministry of annointing, but that we will make room for God to do more healing in the midst of us, and through us.

You Can Go Home Again: A Homily for the Baptism of Our Lord

Preached at All Saints, Collingwood, and Good Shepherd, Stayner, Sunday, 11 January, 2026, the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord.

Readings for this Sunday:  Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

“And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with

whom I am well pleased."

There’s an expression that goes, “You can’t go home again”, which seems to ring true for many of us once we reach a certain point in our lives.

Have you ever had a moment when you realized that this was true for you?

Perhaps it was when the house or cottage where you grew up in was sold or demolished, or when your family church was closed.  Perhaps it was when your parents were both passed away or had become frail and untethered to memory and identity.

As teenagers, many of us longed for independence, couldn’t wait to get out in the world and be free of the demands of our parents.  But as adults, I think many of might acknowledge a certain wistful sadness that we can no longer go back to that place where we were once cared for, nurtured and protected.

Today I’d like to think with you about how the story of Jesus’ baptism is actually an invitation to return home, to find our place and our grounding in a deep relationship with the God who loves us profoundly and whose love gives us strength and purpose.

So let’s begin briefly with baptism.   It’s worth noting that while most of us were baptized, probably as infants, Jesus’ baptism is in fact not Christian baptism, it’s unique.     The baptism that John was offering in the River Jordan was about repentance, a cleansing and washing away of sin and guilt and an invitation to lead a better life going forward.

John the Baptist understood that Jesus was clean, with no sins to repent of, and so he protests.  But Jesus, when he stands in the muddy footsteps of all those who have already come to John, stands with all of us, who need to be cleansed.  

Now in one sense this can be seen as an act of solidarity, of Jesus coming to be with us in all of our messy humanity, and that is certainly part of it.  It’s why Jesus’ opponents accuse him of spending too much time hanging out in taverns with a bad crowd.  But Jesus’ ministry was about much more than just hanging out with sinners.  It was about calling sinners to come home.  

Jesus’ baptism is an invitation to come for us to come home.  We hear that invitation in the words from heaven, “This is my son, the beloved, with whom i am well pleased”.    Matthew’s use of the demonstrative pronoun, “This”, is important, and suggests that these words are meant to be heard by others, and particularly to be heard by us.   

The words from heaven are not just a statement of Jesus’ identity, but are also about our new identity as followers of Jesus.    Our baptism brings us into the mysterious and wonderful life of the Trinity that Jesus shares with the Father and with the Holy Spirit.  The early Christian writer Justin Martyr wrote words to the effect that Jesus is born every time knowledge of him is born in people.   So baptism, and this is a wild thought, allows us to be part of the Incarnation, it allows us to be born into the life and family of God.  And because we are part of the life and family of God, then we always have a place to come home to.

So what would having a life and a home with God look like?   We might think of being with God as our final destination, a heavenly home, but I think scripture offers us more interesting visions of what coming home to God might look like, depending on where we are.

If we’re feeling lost or alone, it might be the shepherd who leaves his flock to come find us and protect us (Luke 15:3-7).   

If we’re ashamed, it might be the father waiting at his gate,  who will pull us into his embrace and forgiveness.

If we’re feeling joyful, it might be the wedding guest sitting across the table for us, his eyes laughing as we drink from the finest wine we’ve ever tasted.

And if we’re suffering and distressed, or coming to the end of our earthly lives, it will be the crucified king beside us, who promises us that there will be a place for us in his father’s house.

The baptism of Jesus makes all of these things possible because it opens the way for us to share in the rich life and love and community of our three personed Triune God.    Our baptism is the cure for our sin, but it is also the cure for our loneliness and isolation because it gives us a place we can always come home to.

Or, in the words of the old Shaker Hymn, 

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where I ought to be;
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.