"Some brothers asked Macarius, 'How should we pray?' He said, 'There is no need to talk much in prayer. Reach out your hands often and say, 'Lord have mercy on me, as you will and as you know.' But if conflict troubles you, say 'Lord, help me.' He knows what is best for us and has mercy.'"
(Quoted at p. 160 of "Where God Happens: Discovering Christ in One Another" by Rowan Williams).
Monday, December 30, 2013
Monday, December 23, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert - Christmas Edition
During the Advent and Christmas seasons, we hear a lot about angels. An angel appeared to Zechariah, telling him that his wife would bear a son named John (who we know as John the Baptist). How did Zechariah react? "[H]e was terrified; and fear overwhelmed him." (Luke 1:10). What was the angel's response to his fear? "Do not be afraid." (Luke 1:13).
The angel Gabriel then appeared to Mary to tell her that she was to bear one who would be "called the Son of the Most High", what was hear reaction? She was "perplexed". (Luke 1: 29). And what was the angel's response? "Do not be afraid." (Luke 1:30).
The Desert Fathers and Mothers had the same sort of apprehension whenever they believed they encountered an angel: "The hermits said, 'If an angel really appears to you, do not accept it as a matter of course, but humble yourself, and say, 'I live in my sins and am not worthy to see an angel.'" (From p. 165 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
The kind of humility expressed by Zechariah, Mary, and the Desert Fathers and Mothers in the presence of a divine messenger contradicts our expectation that God will always answer us when we call, and give us what we want. The Lord is not our great "Santa Claus in the sky." Instead, we are called to trust that God is with us ("Emmanuel"), and to remember the words of the angels: "Do not be afraid."
The angel Gabriel then appeared to Mary to tell her that she was to bear one who would be "called the Son of the Most High", what was hear reaction? She was "perplexed". (Luke 1: 29). And what was the angel's response? "Do not be afraid." (Luke 1:30).
The Desert Fathers and Mothers had the same sort of apprehension whenever they believed they encountered an angel: "The hermits said, 'If an angel really appears to you, do not accept it as a matter of course, but humble yourself, and say, 'I live in my sins and am not worthy to see an angel.'" (From p. 165 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
The kind of humility expressed by Zechariah, Mary, and the Desert Fathers and Mothers in the presence of a divine messenger contradicts our expectation that God will always answer us when we call, and give us what we want. The Lord is not our great "Santa Claus in the sky." Instead, we are called to trust that God is with us ("Emmanuel"), and to remember the words of the angels: "Do not be afraid."
Monday, December 16, 2013
A Reflection on Tragedy and the Liturgy
As I reflected on the one year anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, I found these words that I posted to my congregation's Facebook page one year ago:
"Many times I have found that when words fail me, the liturgy of the Church helps me to pray. The liturgy of Morning Prayer (Matins) gives us words to pray when we are at a loss for words following the events of yesterday:
"In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace." (The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, from "For All the Saints - A Prayer Book For and By the Church")."
One year later, we still dwell in darkness and the shadow of death. When our faith is shaken by events such as the shooting in Newtown, and when our minds have difficulty grasping how to deal with such a tragedy, sometimes it is all we can do to cling to the words of the liturgy. In the midst of the shadows and the darkness, they remind us of hope - a hope that one day, the dawn from on high will guide our feet into the way of peace.
"Many times I have found that when words fail me, the liturgy of the Church helps me to pray. The liturgy of Morning Prayer (Matins) gives us words to pray when we are at a loss for words following the events of yesterday:
"In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace." (The Song of Zechariah, also known as the Benedictus, from "For All the Saints - A Prayer Book For and By the Church")."
One year later, we still dwell in darkness and the shadow of death. When our faith is shaken by events such as the shooting in Newtown, and when our minds have difficulty grasping how to deal with such a tragedy, sometimes it is all we can do to cling to the words of the liturgy. In the midst of the shadows and the darkness, they remind us of hope - a hope that one day, the dawn from on high will guide our feet into the way of peace.
Monday Morning in the Desert
During this Christmas shopping season, there are many signs around us of "conspicuous consumption" - a/k/a "keeping up with the Joneses". The Desert Fathers and Mothers offer a healthy corrective to that mindset:
"Abba Poemen said that a brother who lived with some other brothers asked Abba Bessarion: 'What ought I to do?' The old man said to him: 'Keep silence, and do not be always comparing yourself with others.'"
(From p. 72 of "In the Heart of the Desert: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers" by John Chryssavgis).
"Abba Poemen said that a brother who lived with some other brothers asked Abba Bessarion: 'What ought I to do?' The old man said to him: 'Keep silence, and do not be always comparing yourself with others.'"
(From p. 72 of "In the Heart of the Desert: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers" by John Chryssavgis).
Monday, December 9, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert
Abba Poemen said: "Evil cannot drive out evil. If anyone hurts you, do good to him and your good will destroy his evil."
(From p. 101 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
(From p. 101 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
Friday, December 6, 2013
Christian Spirituality and the Five Senses - Sight
Iconoclasm is alive and well today in the Church.
If that word is not familiar to you, the term "iconoclasm" simply means the rejection of visual images (paintings, icons, statues, etc.) that are intended to depict something that is sacred. The last great ecumenical council of the Church prior to the schism between East and West (Second Council of Nicaea, 787 A.D.) declared that iconoclasm was contrary to the Gospel.
Historically, iconoclasm was usually based on a deliberate theological decision (usually based upon a misapplication of the commandment against the use of "graven images"). Theological iconoclasm is still around in some parts of Christianity. I tend to think, though, that much of the iconoclasm of today is not based on theological reasons; instead, I suspect that allegedly practical reasons are the driving force behind much of modern iconoclasm. Those practical reasons range from a belief that artwork costs too much money, to a desire to have a worship space look like something "modern and familiar" instead of "foreign and ancient".
Therefore, churches like this one are rarely being built these days:
Instead, more and more churches like this one are being built, particularly in America.
The former picture depicts the interior of Frauenkirche, the "Church of Our Lady", which is the Lutheran Cathedral in Dresden, Germany. It was destroyed due to the Allied bombing campaign toward the end of World War II, but it was recently rebuilt, with glorious results. The latter picture is a typical, modern, sterile worship space which looks more like the interior of an auditorium or shopping mall than a sacred space.
Not all churches, of course, can build something like the Frauenkirche. However, as this little home icon display shows, you can do a lot with a little, even in a small space.
Regardless of whether modern iconoclasm is "theological iconoclasm" or "practical iconoclasm", it is harming the Church. The use of our sense of sight to see the holy is an important part of our faith. .
Why? Just a few days ago (December 4th), the saint of the day was St. John of Damascus. It was his theological writings that formed the basis of the decision made at the Second Council of Nicaea to reject iconoclasm. He wrote:
"In former times, God, who is without form or body, could never be depicted. But now, when God is seen in the flesh conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see, I do not worship matter: I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake, who willed to take his abode in matter; who worked out my salvation through matter. Never will I cease honoring the matter which wrought my salvation!.... Because of this, I salute all remaining matter with reverence, because God has filled it with his grace and power. Through it my salvation has come to me."
(St. John of Damascus, "On the Holy Images", I, 16, translated by David Anderson, in St. John of Damascus on the Divine Images).
Since this is the season of Advent, we use the word "Immanuel" a lot in Church these days. "Immanuel" (also spelled "Emmanuel") simply means "God with us." Because God is with us, why not use our gift of sight to view something that conveys that divinity to us?
If that word is not familiar to you, the term "iconoclasm" simply means the rejection of visual images (paintings, icons, statues, etc.) that are intended to depict something that is sacred. The last great ecumenical council of the Church prior to the schism between East and West (Second Council of Nicaea, 787 A.D.) declared that iconoclasm was contrary to the Gospel.
Historically, iconoclasm was usually based on a deliberate theological decision (usually based upon a misapplication of the commandment against the use of "graven images"). Theological iconoclasm is still around in some parts of Christianity. I tend to think, though, that much of the iconoclasm of today is not based on theological reasons; instead, I suspect that allegedly practical reasons are the driving force behind much of modern iconoclasm. Those practical reasons range from a belief that artwork costs too much money, to a desire to have a worship space look like something "modern and familiar" instead of "foreign and ancient".
Therefore, churches like this one are rarely being built these days:
Instead, more and more churches like this one are being built, particularly in America.
The former picture depicts the interior of Frauenkirche, the "Church of Our Lady", which is the Lutheran Cathedral in Dresden, Germany. It was destroyed due to the Allied bombing campaign toward the end of World War II, but it was recently rebuilt, with glorious results. The latter picture is a typical, modern, sterile worship space which looks more like the interior of an auditorium or shopping mall than a sacred space.
Not all churches, of course, can build something like the Frauenkirche. However, as this little home icon display shows, you can do a lot with a little, even in a small space.
Regardless of whether modern iconoclasm is "theological iconoclasm" or "practical iconoclasm", it is harming the Church. The use of our sense of sight to see the holy is an important part of our faith. .
Why? Just a few days ago (December 4th), the saint of the day was St. John of Damascus. It was his theological writings that formed the basis of the decision made at the Second Council of Nicaea to reject iconoclasm. He wrote:
"In former times, God, who is without form or body, could never be depicted. But now, when God is seen in the flesh conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see, I do not worship matter: I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake, who willed to take his abode in matter; who worked out my salvation through matter. Never will I cease honoring the matter which wrought my salvation!.... Because of this, I salute all remaining matter with reverence, because God has filled it with his grace and power. Through it my salvation has come to me."
(St. John of Damascus, "On the Holy Images", I, 16, translated by David Anderson, in St. John of Damascus on the Divine Images).
Since this is the season of Advent, we use the word "Immanuel" a lot in Church these days. "Immanuel" (also spelled "Emmanuel") simply means "God with us." Because God is with us, why not use our gift of sight to view something that conveys that divinity to us?
Monday, December 2, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert
"A hermit was asked, 'What us humility?' He said, 'It is if you forgive a brother who has wronged you before he is sorry.'"
(From p. 163 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
(From p. 163 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Christian Spirituality and the Five Senses - Taste
"Taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8). Since it is Thanksgiving week, what sense could I talk about other than taste? Instead of talking about turkey and other foods associated with the American holiday, though, I'm going to primarily talk about the food associated with the real Thanksgiving - the Eucharist (which is the Greek word for "Thanksgiving").
If there is one thing that Lutherans are known for, it might be food. The stereotype is that we all eat jello, German Lutherans eat sauerkraut, Swedes eat meatballs, Danes eat Æbleskiver, and Norwegians eat lutefisk. If the stereotype is true, then I'm definitely glad to be Danish instead of Norwegian.
While those foods (except lutefisk) are good, it is somewhat sad that we are primarily known by those foods, and not the food which Christ gave to us - the Eucharist, which is the "true body and blood of Christ." (Martin Luther, Article VI of the Smalcald Articles).
It was not supposed to be so. The Reformers adamantly stated: "At the outset, it is again necessary, by way of preface, to point out that we do not abolish the Mass but religiously retain and defend it. Among us the Mass is celebrated every Lord's day and on other festivals, when the sacrament is made available to those who wish to partake of it, after they have been examined and absolved. We also keep traditional liturgical forms, such as the order of readings, prayers, vestments, and other similar things." (Apology of the Augsburg Confession, Article XXIV).
But, somewhere along the way, Lutherans forgot their heritage - the Eucharist was celebrated less and less frequently, and practices were adopted which compromised our belief that Christ is truly present in the Supper. Some of that was due to necessity - the lack of ordained ministers to serve immigrant congregations on the American frontier prevented weekly communion, for example. However, those special circumstances became the tradition, which has only recently been overcome through the recovery of weekly communion in many congregations (including, thankfully, the congregation where I now serve).
As noted by Orthodox theologian, Fr. Alexander Schmemann, the gathering of Christians to eat the meal instituted by Christ at the Last Supper has been central to the life of the Church since apostolic times:
"'When you assemble as a Church...' writes the apostle Paul to the Corinthians. For him, as for all of early Christianity, these words refer not to a temple but to the nature and purpose of the gathering. As it is well known, the very word 'church' - ἐκκλησία - means 'a gathering' or 'an assembly,' and to 'assemble as a church' meant, in the minds of the early Christians, to constitute a gathering whose purpose is to reveal, to realize, the Church.
The gathering is eucharistic - its end and fulfillment lies in its being the setting wherein the 'Lord's Supper' is accomplished, wherein the eucharistic 'breaking of the bread' takes place. In the same epistle St. Paul reproaches the Corinthians for partaking of a meal other than the Lord's supper in their gathering, or assembling for a purpose other than the eucharistic breaking of bread. Thus, from the very beginning we can see an obvious, undoubted triunity of the assembly, the eucharist and the Church, to which the whole early tradition of the Church, following St. Paul, unanimously testifies."
(From "The Eucharist" by Alexander Schmemann, p. 11). Accordingly, the "just me and Jesus" kind of spirituality that has infiltrated modern Christianity violates the very heart of the faith that Christ gave to the apostles, which envisions a gathering in Jesus' name to break bread.
As Pope Francis wrote this week in paragraph 47 of Evangelii Gaudium, "[t]he Eucharist, although it is the fullness of sacramental life, is not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak." Luther wrote that in the physical act of eating and drinking according to Christ's command, "life and salvation are given to us in the sacrament." (Small Catechism).
A meal which is powerful medicine and nourishment? A meal which gives us life and salvation? That is a Thanksgiving meal we can all celebrate.
If there is one thing that Lutherans are known for, it might be food. The stereotype is that we all eat jello, German Lutherans eat sauerkraut, Swedes eat meatballs, Danes eat Æbleskiver, and Norwegians eat lutefisk. If the stereotype is true, then I'm definitely glad to be Danish instead of Norwegian.
While those foods (except lutefisk) are good, it is somewhat sad that we are primarily known by those foods, and not the food which Christ gave to us - the Eucharist, which is the "true body and blood of Christ." (Martin Luther, Article VI of the Smalcald Articles).
It was not supposed to be so. The Reformers adamantly stated: "At the outset, it is again necessary, by way of preface, to point out that we do not abolish the Mass but religiously retain and defend it. Among us the Mass is celebrated every Lord's day and on other festivals, when the sacrament is made available to those who wish to partake of it, after they have been examined and absolved. We also keep traditional liturgical forms, such as the order of readings, prayers, vestments, and other similar things." (Apology of the Augsburg Confession, Article XXIV).
But, somewhere along the way, Lutherans forgot their heritage - the Eucharist was celebrated less and less frequently, and practices were adopted which compromised our belief that Christ is truly present in the Supper. Some of that was due to necessity - the lack of ordained ministers to serve immigrant congregations on the American frontier prevented weekly communion, for example. However, those special circumstances became the tradition, which has only recently been overcome through the recovery of weekly communion in many congregations (including, thankfully, the congregation where I now serve).
As noted by Orthodox theologian, Fr. Alexander Schmemann, the gathering of Christians to eat the meal instituted by Christ at the Last Supper has been central to the life of the Church since apostolic times:
"'When you assemble as a Church...' writes the apostle Paul to the Corinthians. For him, as for all of early Christianity, these words refer not to a temple but to the nature and purpose of the gathering. As it is well known, the very word 'church' - ἐκκλησία - means 'a gathering' or 'an assembly,' and to 'assemble as a church' meant, in the minds of the early Christians, to constitute a gathering whose purpose is to reveal, to realize, the Church.
The gathering is eucharistic - its end and fulfillment lies in its being the setting wherein the 'Lord's Supper' is accomplished, wherein the eucharistic 'breaking of the bread' takes place. In the same epistle St. Paul reproaches the Corinthians for partaking of a meal other than the Lord's supper in their gathering, or assembling for a purpose other than the eucharistic breaking of bread. Thus, from the very beginning we can see an obvious, undoubted triunity of the assembly, the eucharist and the Church, to which the whole early tradition of the Church, following St. Paul, unanimously testifies."
(From "The Eucharist" by Alexander Schmemann, p. 11). Accordingly, the "just me and Jesus" kind of spirituality that has infiltrated modern Christianity violates the very heart of the faith that Christ gave to the apostles, which envisions a gathering in Jesus' name to break bread.
As Pope Francis wrote this week in paragraph 47 of Evangelii Gaudium, "[t]he Eucharist, although it is the fullness of sacramental life, is not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak." Luther wrote that in the physical act of eating and drinking according to Christ's command, "life and salvation are given to us in the sacrament." (Small Catechism).
A meal which is powerful medicine and nourishment? A meal which gives us life and salvation? That is a Thanksgiving meal we can all celebrate.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert
Out of all the traits of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, the trait that intrigues me the most is their humility. Not a fake, pious humility, but a genuine absence of pride. They offer a refreshing alternate perspective in a culture where brashness is almost always celebrated as a virtue. Political debates are deemed to be won by the candidate that has the best one-line zinger. Great sports plays are merely the prelude to an extravagant, chest-thumping celebration. Even in the Church, Christians have had to constantly battle against the temptation to believe that bigger is always better.
This story is illustrative of the alternate mindset of the Desert Fathers and Mothers:
"The devil appeared to a monk disguised as an angel of light, and said to him, 'I am the angel Gabriel, and I have been sent to you.' But the monk said, 'Are you sure you weren't sent to someone else? I am not worthy to have an angel sent to me.' At that the devil vanished."
(From p. xvii of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
As a footnote to this week's post, there was an interesting news story a few days ago about Pope Francis' visit to the monastic cell of an American woman, Sister Nazarena of Jesus (formerly known as Julia Crotta) who became a modern-day Desert Mother. http://www.patheos.com/blogs/kathyschiffer/2013/11/pope-francis-visits-the-cell-of-nazarena-of-jesus-an-american-anchoress/
This story is illustrative of the alternate mindset of the Desert Fathers and Mothers:
"The devil appeared to a monk disguised as an angel of light, and said to him, 'I am the angel Gabriel, and I have been sent to you.' But the monk said, 'Are you sure you weren't sent to someone else? I am not worthy to have an angel sent to me.' At that the devil vanished."
(From p. xvii of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
As a footnote to this week's post, there was an interesting news story a few days ago about Pope Francis' visit to the monastic cell of an American woman, Sister Nazarena of Jesus (formerly known as Julia Crotta) who became a modern-day Desert Mother. http://www.patheos.com/blogs/kathyschiffer/2013/11/pope-francis-visits-the-cell-of-nazarena-of-jesus-an-american-anchoress/
Friday, November 22, 2013
Christian Spirituality and the Five Senses - Touch
It is no secret that much of what passes for Christian spirituality these days has devolved into a "just me and Jesus" kind of spirituality. Individual devotions and prayer are critical components to the practice of our faith, but when there is nothing more, much of the essence of Christian spirituality has been lost.
What is lost in "just me and Jesus" spirituality? The use of our five senses. An individualized faith engages in a limited use of just a few senses, such as the use of sight to read the Bible, or hearing to listen to sacred music. However, the use of those two senses is limited in an individualized faith, and there is little or no experience of the holy through the other senses of touch, taste, or smell. Some people, due to physical or mental limitations, are unable to use one or more their senses, so God will come to them through the senses they can use. However, for those of us who are able to use all five of our senses, we are depriving ourselves of the sacred gifts God has given to us if we limit our spiritual practices to the use of only one or two senses.
In this article, I'm going to explore how God comes to us through the sense of touch.
An episode from the Gospel of Mark powerfully demonstrates the importance of the sense of touch. Jairus, the leader of a synagogue, approached Jesus and begged him to heal his daughter through the use of touch: "Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." (Mark 5:23). While he was on his way to Jairus' daughter, a hemorrhaging woman discretely approached Jesus, hoping to be healed by touching him without anyone noticing: "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." (Mark 5:28). Jesus sensed that someone had touched him, and instead of chastising her, he proclaimed: "Daughter, your faith has made you well." (Mark 5:34). He proceeded to go to the house where the body of Jairus' daughter was lying, and "[he] took her by the hand and said to her 'Talitha cum,' which means 'Little girl, get up.'" (Mark 5:41). And the girl arose. Christ did not heal people through waving a magic wand or saying an incantation - he used the sense of touch.
(A visual depiction of Jesus healing the woman, found in the catacombs of Rome).
The healing power of touch was not just limited to Jesus, as this curious little passage in Acts reminds us: "God did extraordinary miracles through Paul, so that when the handkerchiefs or aprons that had touched his skin were brought to the sick, their diseases left them, and the evil spirits came out of them." (Acts 19:11-12). (As a side note, that handkerchief sounds a lot like what Catholics would call a second class relic - could this be another example of the Reformers throwing out the proverbial baby out with the bathwater?).
Perhaps the most important story in Scripture involving the sense of touch was immediately after the resurrection: "(Jesus) said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’" (John 20:27-28). The importance of touch to the early Church was later confirmed in the opening words of 1 John: "We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life" (1 John 1).
The continuing importance of the sense of touch to our lives together as a Christian community is reflected by the fact that many of our most important rites include the "laying on of hands" - baptism, affirmation of baptism (a/k/a confirmation), ordination, and healing (which also typically involves anointing with oil). Even outside of the official rites of the Church, the sense of touch can be powerful - sometimes holding a patient's hand in a hospital room, or embracing someone who has experienced a loss, does much more to assist in the healing process than our attempt to console through words.
The sense of touch can even be important to our individual spiritual practices. I wear a chotki (prayer rope) on my wrist, and have found it to be an aid to my personal prayer life. Sometimes, at an almost subconscious level, I find that my other hand has drifted to touching the knots on the rope, and I begin praying the Jesus Prayer ("Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner"). That is probably just one example of the many ways that an increased use of the sense of touch can enhance personal spiritual disciplines.
In my next post in this series, I will explore a topic appropriate for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday - the importance of taste to Christian spirituality.
What is lost in "just me and Jesus" spirituality? The use of our five senses. An individualized faith engages in a limited use of just a few senses, such as the use of sight to read the Bible, or hearing to listen to sacred music. However, the use of those two senses is limited in an individualized faith, and there is little or no experience of the holy through the other senses of touch, taste, or smell. Some people, due to physical or mental limitations, are unable to use one or more their senses, so God will come to them through the senses they can use. However, for those of us who are able to use all five of our senses, we are depriving ourselves of the sacred gifts God has given to us if we limit our spiritual practices to the use of only one or two senses.
In this article, I'm going to explore how God comes to us through the sense of touch.
An episode from the Gospel of Mark powerfully demonstrates the importance of the sense of touch. Jairus, the leader of a synagogue, approached Jesus and begged him to heal his daughter through the use of touch: "Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." (Mark 5:23). While he was on his way to Jairus' daughter, a hemorrhaging woman discretely approached Jesus, hoping to be healed by touching him without anyone noticing: "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." (Mark 5:28). Jesus sensed that someone had touched him, and instead of chastising her, he proclaimed: "Daughter, your faith has made you well." (Mark 5:34). He proceeded to go to the house where the body of Jairus' daughter was lying, and "[he] took her by the hand and said to her 'Talitha cum,' which means 'Little girl, get up.'" (Mark 5:41). And the girl arose. Christ did not heal people through waving a magic wand or saying an incantation - he used the sense of touch.
(A visual depiction of Jesus healing the woman, found in the catacombs of Rome).
The healing power of touch was not just limited to Jesus, as this curious little passage in Acts reminds us: "God did extraordinary miracles through Paul, so that when the handkerchiefs or aprons that had touched his skin were brought to the sick, their diseases left them, and the evil spirits came out of them." (Acts 19:11-12). (As a side note, that handkerchief sounds a lot like what Catholics would call a second class relic - could this be another example of the Reformers throwing out the proverbial baby out with the bathwater?).
Perhaps the most important story in Scripture involving the sense of touch was immediately after the resurrection: "(Jesus) said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’" (John 20:27-28). The importance of touch to the early Church was later confirmed in the opening words of 1 John: "We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life" (1 John 1).
The continuing importance of the sense of touch to our lives together as a Christian community is reflected by the fact that many of our most important rites include the "laying on of hands" - baptism, affirmation of baptism (a/k/a confirmation), ordination, and healing (which also typically involves anointing with oil). Even outside of the official rites of the Church, the sense of touch can be powerful - sometimes holding a patient's hand in a hospital room, or embracing someone who has experienced a loss, does much more to assist in the healing process than our attempt to console through words.
The sense of touch can even be important to our individual spiritual practices. I wear a chotki (prayer rope) on my wrist, and have found it to be an aid to my personal prayer life. Sometimes, at an almost subconscious level, I find that my other hand has drifted to touching the knots on the rope, and I begin praying the Jesus Prayer ("Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner"). That is probably just one example of the many ways that an increased use of the sense of touch can enhance personal spiritual disciplines.
In my next post in this series, I will explore a topic appropriate for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday - the importance of taste to Christian spirituality.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert
It may seem to us that the Desert Fathers lived lives of grim austerity. However, at times, their sense of humor was apparent through their stories, such as the story of two hermits whose humility prevented them from arguing with each other. If I am ever asked to give the invocation at a session of Congress, I would be tempted to tell this story:
"Two hermits lived together for many years without a quarrel. One said to the other, 'Let's have a quarrel with each other, as is the way of men.' The other answered, 'I don't know how a quarrel happens.' The first said, 'Look here, I put a brick between us, and I say, 'That's mine. Then you say, No, it's mine. That is how you begin a quarrel.' So they put a brick between them, and one of them said, 'That's mine.' The other said, 'No, it's mine.' He answered, 'Yes, it's yours. Take it away.' They were unable to argue with each other."
(From p. xv of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
"Two hermits lived together for many years without a quarrel. One said to the other, 'Let's have a quarrel with each other, as is the way of men.' The other answered, 'I don't know how a quarrel happens.' The first said, 'Look here, I put a brick between us, and I say, 'That's mine. Then you say, No, it's mine. That is how you begin a quarrel.' So they put a brick between them, and one of them said, 'That's mine.' The other said, 'No, it's mine.' He answered, 'Yes, it's yours. Take it away.' They were unable to argue with each other."
(From p. xv of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Kierkegaard on Monasticism
As a Lutheran with Danish ancestry, I suppose I should know a lot more about Soren Kierkegaard than I do. Reading translations of 19th century philosophical works has never been that high on my list of things to do.
However, after reading this quote from Kierkegaard, I may have to break down and actually read his writings some time, as it sums up my feelings on the the future of monasticism, both within Protestantism, and the Church as a whole:
"Of this there is no doubt, our age and Protestantism in general may need the monastery again, or wish it were there. The "monastery" is an essential dialectical element in Christianity. We therefore need it out there like a navigation buoy at sea in order to see where we are, even though I myself would not enter it. But if there really is true Christianity in every generation, there must also be individuals who have this need..."
(Quoted in the preface to "An Infinity of Little Hours" by Nancy Klein Maguire).
However, after reading this quote from Kierkegaard, I may have to break down and actually read his writings some time, as it sums up my feelings on the the future of monasticism, both within Protestantism, and the Church as a whole:
"Of this there is no doubt, our age and Protestantism in general may need the monastery again, or wish it were there. The "monastery" is an essential dialectical element in Christianity. We therefore need it out there like a navigation buoy at sea in order to see where we are, even though I myself would not enter it. But if there really is true Christianity in every generation, there must also be individuals who have this need..."
(Quoted in the preface to "An Infinity of Little Hours" by Nancy Klein Maguire).
Monday, November 11, 2013
Monday Morning in the Desert
Like many others who study and practice contemplative spirituality, I am fascinated by the lives and sayings of the Desert Fathers and Mothers. They were the original monks, who lived primarily in the deserts of Egypt, beginning in the third century. Beginning this morning, I'm going to try to post a saying from one of the Desert Fathers or Mothers each Monday.
"A brother came to a hermit: and as he was taking his leave, he said, 'Forgive me, abba, for preventing you from keeping your rule.' The hermit answered, 'My rule is to welcome you with hospitality, and to send you on your way in peace.'"
(From p. 136 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
"A brother came to a hermit: and as he was taking his leave, he said, 'Forgive me, abba, for preventing you from keeping your rule.' The hermit answered, 'My rule is to welcome you with hospitality, and to send you on your way in peace.'"
(From p. 136 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks" translated by Benedicta Ward).
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Sleeping Like a Monk
Last night, the time change that occurred last weekend caught up with me (for readers outside of the U.S., we moved our clocks back one hour, ending Daylight Savings Time). I fell asleep on the couch at about 8:30 p.m., and got up and went to bed a little before 11 p.m.
Of course, I couldn't get back to sleep right away. Even though going back to sleep was what I desired, I could take comfort in two things as I was awake in bed: (1) I was actually following the natural sleep pattern of our ancestors, and (2) I had the opportunity to engage in the Biblical and monastic practice of praying at night.
Recent studies have shown that our bodies naturally prefer "segmented sleep", meaning two distinct periods of sleep at night. Roger Ekirch, a professor of history at Virginia Tech, has located numerous references in historical records to the time of "first sleep" and "second sleep" Before the Industrial Revolution and the widespread use of artificial lighting, our ancestors would go to sleep for a few hours after sundown, then would rise in the middle of the night for a few hours of activity, and then would fall back asleep until sunrise. So, my sleep pattern last night was perfectly natural. For more information about "segmented sleep", read this article: http://slumberwise.com/science/your-ancestors-didnt-sleep-like-you/
These recent studies are not news to certain monastic orders who follow the ancient patterns of prayer. For centuries, Carthusian monks have used our bodies' natural segmented sleep pattern to get up in the middle of the night to pray.
A Carthusian monk goes to bed at 7:30 p.m., and rises at 11:30 p.m. for a period of private prayer in his cell. At 12:15 a.m., the monks gather in the chapel for communal observance of the prayer offices of Matins and Lauds, which last approximately 2-3 hours, and then they go back to bed, where they remain until rising at approximately 6:30 a.m.
There are also numerous references in the Bible to the importance of prayer at night - "watching and waking":
"How often is it mentioned in the psalms that the person who prays 'meditates' (Psalm 1:2) on the law of God not only by day, but also by night, that he stretches out his hands to God in prayer at night, (Psalm 77:3, 134:2), that he rises 'at midnight to praise God because of his righteous ordinances' (Psalm 119:62)....
Christ was accustomed to spend 'all night. . . in prayer to God' (Luke 6:12), or 'in the morning, a great while before day' to go out in the wilderness to pray. (Mark 1:35).
Hence the Lord urgently admonishes his disciples, also, to 'watch and pray' (Mark 14:38, Luke 21:36), and indicates a new reason for it: 'You do not know the time' of the return of the Son of Man (Mark 13:33) and could therefore, weakened by sleep, 'enter into temptation.' (Matthew 26:41)."
(From pp. 79-80 of "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B.).
So, the next time you have a bout of insomnia like I did last night - don't fret - take advantage of the time you are awake, and pray like a monk.
UPDATE (11/7/13): This article has been cross-posted on the Living Lutheran!
http://www.elca.org/en/Living-Lutheran/Blogs/2013/11/131107b
Of course, I couldn't get back to sleep right away. Even though going back to sleep was what I desired, I could take comfort in two things as I was awake in bed: (1) I was actually following the natural sleep pattern of our ancestors, and (2) I had the opportunity to engage in the Biblical and monastic practice of praying at night.
Recent studies have shown that our bodies naturally prefer "segmented sleep", meaning two distinct periods of sleep at night. Roger Ekirch, a professor of history at Virginia Tech, has located numerous references in historical records to the time of "first sleep" and "second sleep" Before the Industrial Revolution and the widespread use of artificial lighting, our ancestors would go to sleep for a few hours after sundown, then would rise in the middle of the night for a few hours of activity, and then would fall back asleep until sunrise. So, my sleep pattern last night was perfectly natural. For more information about "segmented sleep", read this article: http://slumberwise.com/science/your-ancestors-didnt-sleep-like-you/
These recent studies are not news to certain monastic orders who follow the ancient patterns of prayer. For centuries, Carthusian monks have used our bodies' natural segmented sleep pattern to get up in the middle of the night to pray.
A Carthusian monk goes to bed at 7:30 p.m., and rises at 11:30 p.m. for a period of private prayer in his cell. At 12:15 a.m., the monks gather in the chapel for communal observance of the prayer offices of Matins and Lauds, which last approximately 2-3 hours, and then they go back to bed, where they remain until rising at approximately 6:30 a.m.
There are also numerous references in the Bible to the importance of prayer at night - "watching and waking":
"How often is it mentioned in the psalms that the person who prays 'meditates' (Psalm 1:2) on the law of God not only by day, but also by night, that he stretches out his hands to God in prayer at night, (Psalm 77:3, 134:2), that he rises 'at midnight to praise God because of his righteous ordinances' (Psalm 119:62)....
Christ was accustomed to spend 'all night. . . in prayer to God' (Luke 6:12), or 'in the morning, a great while before day' to go out in the wilderness to pray. (Mark 1:35).
Hence the Lord urgently admonishes his disciples, also, to 'watch and pray' (Mark 14:38, Luke 21:36), and indicates a new reason for it: 'You do not know the time' of the return of the Son of Man (Mark 13:33) and could therefore, weakened by sleep, 'enter into temptation.' (Matthew 26:41)."
(From pp. 79-80 of "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B.).
So, the next time you have a bout of insomnia like I did last night - don't fret - take advantage of the time you are awake, and pray like a monk.
UPDATE (11/7/13): This article has been cross-posted on the Living Lutheran!
http://www.elca.org/en/Living-Lutheran/Blogs/2013/11/131107b
Friday, November 1, 2013
All Saints Day
Today, of course, is All Saints Day. My favorite hymn about the saints is "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones" and my congregation will be singing it on Sunday. The hymn contains verses praising the angels, Mary, and the saints:
Ye watchers and ye holy ones,
Bright seraphs, cherubim and thrones,
Raise the glad strain, Alleluia!
Cry out, dominions, princedoms, powers,
Virtues, archangels, angels’ choirs:
O higher than the cherubim,
More glorious than the seraphim,
Lead their praises, Alleluia!
Thou bearer of th’eternal Word,
Most gracious, magnify the Lord.
Respond, ye souls in endless rest,
Ye patriarchs and prophets blest,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Ye holy twelve, ye martyrs strong,
All saints triumphant, raise the song.
O friends, in gladness let us sing,
Supernal anthems echoing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One.
Here is a beautiful version of the hymn, sung by the choir of St. Anne's Cathedral (Anglican) in Belfast:
Ye watchers and ye holy ones,
Bright seraphs, cherubim and thrones,
Raise the glad strain, Alleluia!
Cry out, dominions, princedoms, powers,
Virtues, archangels, angels’ choirs:
(Refrain)
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Alleluia!
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Alleluia!
More glorious than the seraphim,
Lead their praises, Alleluia!
Thou bearer of th’eternal Word,
Most gracious, magnify the Lord.
(Refrain)
Ye patriarchs and prophets blest,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Ye holy twelve, ye martyrs strong,
All saints triumphant, raise the song.
(Refrain)
O friends, in gladness let us sing,
Supernal anthems echoing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One.
(Refrain)
Here is a beautiful version of the hymn, sung by the choir of St. Anne's Cathedral (Anglican) in Belfast:
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Affirmation of Baptism and Turning to the East
Today, my son Jonathan affirmed his baptism through the rite traditionally known as confirmation.
The Lutheran rite contains the following questions:
Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?
Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?
Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?
The answer my son gave to each one of those questions was "I renounce them".
In doing so, he also turned to the east. Perhaps he did not do so literally from the perspective of geography, but in the minds of the Early Church Fathers, he turned toward the east after he renounced the devil, the powers of this world, and the ways of sin. The following passage written by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B., connects the baptismal rite with the ancient practice of facing the east when praying:
"In the sacrament (of baptism), what was bestowed upon humanity as a whole in salvation history is bestowed upon me in an utterly personal way.
(Quoting Cyril of Jerusalem) 'When, therefore, you renounce Satan, utterly breaking all covenant with him, that ancient league with hell, there is opened to you the Paradise of God, which he planted toward the east, whence for his transgression our first father was exiled; and symbolic of this was your turning from the west toward the east, the place of light.'
The relation between the 'east' and Christ is so close in the mind of the Fathers that Ambrose in the same context, with regard to the newly baptized turning from the west toward the east, can simply say: 'Whoever renounces the devil turns toward Christ and looks at him directly.'
Whenever a Christian places himself in the presence of his Lord to pray, therefore - even if this is not always said explicitly or consciously adverted to - he renews with this turn toward the east that act of turning away from the evil one and of professing the triune God, which he performed once and for all in baptism."
(From the book, "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" pp. 66-67).
The Lutheran rite contains the following questions:
Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?
Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God?
Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God?
The answer my son gave to each one of those questions was "I renounce them".
In doing so, he also turned to the east. Perhaps he did not do so literally from the perspective of geography, but in the minds of the Early Church Fathers, he turned toward the east after he renounced the devil, the powers of this world, and the ways of sin. The following passage written by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B., connects the baptismal rite with the ancient practice of facing the east when praying:
"In the sacrament (of baptism), what was bestowed upon humanity as a whole in salvation history is bestowed upon me in an utterly personal way.
(Quoting Cyril of Jerusalem) 'When, therefore, you renounce Satan, utterly breaking all covenant with him, that ancient league with hell, there is opened to you the Paradise of God, which he planted toward the east, whence for his transgression our first father was exiled; and symbolic of this was your turning from the west toward the east, the place of light.'
The relation between the 'east' and Christ is so close in the mind of the Fathers that Ambrose in the same context, with regard to the newly baptized turning from the west toward the east, can simply say: 'Whoever renounces the devil turns toward Christ and looks at him directly.'
Whenever a Christian places himself in the presence of his Lord to pray, therefore - even if this is not always said explicitly or consciously adverted to - he renews with this turn toward the east that act of turning away from the evil one and of professing the triune God, which he performed once and for all in baptism."
(From the book, "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" pp. 66-67).
Monday, October 21, 2013
Is the Rule of St. Benedict Supported by the Bible?
A common question posed by Protestants about any Christian belief or practice is: "But where is that found in the Bible?" This post is not about the merits (or lack thereof) of sola scriptura (scripture alone); instead, it will set forth a few ways in which the core of the Benedictine way is supported by the Bible.
One verse sums it up: "They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers." (Acts 2:42).
How does that verse relate to the essence of the Rule of St. Benedict? Acts 2:42 can be broken down into three parts: (1) "They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship" - this is found in various Benedictine devotional practices, such as lectio divina ("divine reading"). (2) "The breaking of bread" - the Rule of St. Benedict emphasizes the importance of the Eucharist. (3) "The prayers" - this brief mention needs further explanation, but there is a direct parallel between the pattern of daily prayer used by the first Christians, and the later daily office of prayers set forth in the Rule of St. Benedict.
This note in the Orthodox Study Bible helps explain the reference to "prayers" in Acts 2:42: "Prayers is literally 'the prayers' in Greek, referring to specific liturgical prayers. The Jews had practiced liturgical prayer for centuries, the preeminent prayers being the Psalms. Because the Psalms point so clearly to Christ, Christians immediately incorporated them into (New Testament) worship."
With that background in mind, other Biblical references to the daily liturgical prayers, which were incorporated into the Rule of St. Benedict, become obvious:
"One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, at three o’clock in the afternoon." (Acts 3:1). The apostles were praying the mid-afternoon prayers, later referred to by Benedictines as the office of "None".
"In Caesarea there was a man named Cornelius, a centurion of the Italian Cohort, as it was called. He was a devout man who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God. One afternoon at about three o’clock he had a vision in which he clearly saw an angel of God coming in and saying to him, ‘Cornelius.’ He stared at him in terror and said, ‘What is it, Lord?’ He answered, ‘Your prayers and your alms have ascended as a memorial before God.'" (Acts 10: 1-4 - see also the reference at Acts 10:30). Here, Cornelius is praying the mid-afternoon prayers when he had the encounter with an angel.
"About noon the next day, as they were on their journey and approaching the city, Peter went up on the roof to pray." (Acts 10:9). Noontime prayer in the Rule of St. Benedict is referred to as "Sext".
"About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them." (Acts 16:25). Here, they were praying the night office of "Vigils" - some monastic orders, such as the Carthusians, still pray at midnight. While most Benedictines have adjusted the time frame, they still pray the night office of prayers.
And how far back does the tradition of praying seven times a day go? At least as far back as the Psalms: "Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous ordinances." (Psalm 119:164).
Sometimes, this daily prayer ritual, observed by the apostles and followed to this day by Benedictines and other orders, is referred to as the "sanctification of time" - the hours of the day are made holy by prayer. For those of us who do not live in a cloister, and who have secular jobs, observing the seven daily prayer offices will not be feasible. However, given the Biblical precedent revealing the importance of regular daily prayer at different times, it should be a goal of all Christians - not just monastics - to figure out a daily prayer regimen that works for them, and follow it.
(Thanks to Matthew Dallman, author of the excellent book "The Benedictine Parish" - reviewed at http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-benedictine-parish.html - for highlighting the relevance of Acts 2:42 to the Benedictine way).
One verse sums it up: "They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers." (Acts 2:42).
How does that verse relate to the essence of the Rule of St. Benedict? Acts 2:42 can be broken down into three parts: (1) "They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship" - this is found in various Benedictine devotional practices, such as lectio divina ("divine reading"). (2) "The breaking of bread" - the Rule of St. Benedict emphasizes the importance of the Eucharist. (3) "The prayers" - this brief mention needs further explanation, but there is a direct parallel between the pattern of daily prayer used by the first Christians, and the later daily office of prayers set forth in the Rule of St. Benedict.
This note in the Orthodox Study Bible helps explain the reference to "prayers" in Acts 2:42: "Prayers is literally 'the prayers' in Greek, referring to specific liturgical prayers. The Jews had practiced liturgical prayer for centuries, the preeminent prayers being the Psalms. Because the Psalms point so clearly to Christ, Christians immediately incorporated them into (New Testament) worship."
With that background in mind, other Biblical references to the daily liturgical prayers, which were incorporated into the Rule of St. Benedict, become obvious:
"One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, at three o’clock in the afternoon." (Acts 3:1). The apostles were praying the mid-afternoon prayers, later referred to by Benedictines as the office of "None".
"In Caesarea there was a man named Cornelius, a centurion of the Italian Cohort, as it was called. He was a devout man who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God. One afternoon at about three o’clock he had a vision in which he clearly saw an angel of God coming in and saying to him, ‘Cornelius.’ He stared at him in terror and said, ‘What is it, Lord?’ He answered, ‘Your prayers and your alms have ascended as a memorial before God.'" (Acts 10: 1-4 - see also the reference at Acts 10:30). Here, Cornelius is praying the mid-afternoon prayers when he had the encounter with an angel.
"About noon the next day, as they were on their journey and approaching the city, Peter went up on the roof to pray." (Acts 10:9). Noontime prayer in the Rule of St. Benedict is referred to as "Sext".
"About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them." (Acts 16:25). Here, they were praying the night office of "Vigils" - some monastic orders, such as the Carthusians, still pray at midnight. While most Benedictines have adjusted the time frame, they still pray the night office of prayers.
And how far back does the tradition of praying seven times a day go? At least as far back as the Psalms: "Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous ordinances." (Psalm 119:164).
Sometimes, this daily prayer ritual, observed by the apostles and followed to this day by Benedictines and other orders, is referred to as the "sanctification of time" - the hours of the day are made holy by prayer. For those of us who do not live in a cloister, and who have secular jobs, observing the seven daily prayer offices will not be feasible. However, given the Biblical precedent revealing the importance of regular daily prayer at different times, it should be a goal of all Christians - not just monastics - to figure out a daily prayer regimen that works for them, and follow it.
(Thanks to Matthew Dallman, author of the excellent book "The Benedictine Parish" - reviewed at http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-benedictine-parish.html - for highlighting the relevance of Acts 2:42 to the Benedictine way).
Monday, October 14, 2013
How to Fight a Zombie Apocalypse
Zombies are all around us!
Halloween is approaching, so signs of the "Zombie Apocalypse" are increasing. The town where I live just had its annual "zombie walk." My son plays in a college marching band, and the theme of their halftime show is the "Zombie Apocalypse." The fourth season of a popular television show ("The Walking Dead" - the story of a post-apocalyptic America overrun by zombies) just began. The DVD of the zombie movie "World War Z" recently topped the sales charts.
The "Zombie Apocalypse" is fictional, of course, but our culture's fascination with a world taken over by the living dead is perhaps another sign that our culture has an unhealthy relationship with the prospect of death, as well as the future of our world. What can we do about this unhealthy relationship?
A simple gesture can help - the sign of the cross.
In my (admittedly limited) experience, I have noticed that Lutherans have recently made the sign of the cross upon themselves much more frequently. Luther wrote that at the beginning of our morning and evening prayers, we should make the sign of the cross, but somewhere along the line, many Lutherans forgot to follow his advice. Increasingly, though, it appears that we are returning to one of the most ancient forms of Christian devotion.
So, how does the sign of the cross help us deal with death and the future of the world? And, just in case there really is a "Zombie Apocalypse", would making the sign of the cross help us against the undead? These words from a Benedictine monk (which would be whole-heartedly endorsed by Luther, I think) help answer those questions:
"This gesture of signing oneself with the cross, like no other gesture, identifies the Christian as a 'Christian', as (one) whose salvation comes solely from Christ's death on the Cross, into which (we have) been drawn in a mysterious manner through the sacrament of baptism. . . .
For this reason the holy sign of the cross, which we make over ourselves or others, is always a profession of faith in the victory that Christ on the Cross won against every hostile power. For the Fathers always made use of this sign, also, whenever they knew that they were confronted with these hostile powers. Indeed, Anthony the Great (one of the Desert Fathers of the early Church) taught his disciples that the demons and phantasms were in reality 'nothing and quickly disappear, especially when a person (is armed) with faith and the sign of the cross.' . . . .
As great as the power of the sign of the cross is, it is not a question of a magical gesture. It is faith that makes it mighty!"
(from pages 181-183 of "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B.).
Halloween is approaching, so signs of the "Zombie Apocalypse" are increasing. The town where I live just had its annual "zombie walk." My son plays in a college marching band, and the theme of their halftime show is the "Zombie Apocalypse." The fourth season of a popular television show ("The Walking Dead" - the story of a post-apocalyptic America overrun by zombies) just began. The DVD of the zombie movie "World War Z" recently topped the sales charts.
The "Zombie Apocalypse" is fictional, of course, but our culture's fascination with a world taken over by the living dead is perhaps another sign that our culture has an unhealthy relationship with the prospect of death, as well as the future of our world. What can we do about this unhealthy relationship?
A simple gesture can help - the sign of the cross.
In my (admittedly limited) experience, I have noticed that Lutherans have recently made the sign of the cross upon themselves much more frequently. Luther wrote that at the beginning of our morning and evening prayers, we should make the sign of the cross, but somewhere along the line, many Lutherans forgot to follow his advice. Increasingly, though, it appears that we are returning to one of the most ancient forms of Christian devotion.
So, how does the sign of the cross help us deal with death and the future of the world? And, just in case there really is a "Zombie Apocalypse", would making the sign of the cross help us against the undead? These words from a Benedictine monk (which would be whole-heartedly endorsed by Luther, I think) help answer those questions:
"This gesture of signing oneself with the cross, like no other gesture, identifies the Christian as a 'Christian', as (one) whose salvation comes solely from Christ's death on the Cross, into which (we have) been drawn in a mysterious manner through the sacrament of baptism. . . .
For this reason the holy sign of the cross, which we make over ourselves or others, is always a profession of faith in the victory that Christ on the Cross won against every hostile power. For the Fathers always made use of this sign, also, whenever they knew that they were confronted with these hostile powers. Indeed, Anthony the Great (one of the Desert Fathers of the early Church) taught his disciples that the demons and phantasms were in reality 'nothing and quickly disappear, especially when a person (is armed) with faith and the sign of the cross.' . . . .
As great as the power of the sign of the cross is, it is not a question of a magical gesture. It is faith that makes it mighty!"
(from pages 181-183 of "Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer According to the Patristic Tradition" by Gabriel Bunge, O.S.B.).
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Is this Heaven? No, it's Iowa.
Having a rough day? Watch the first few minutes of the video entitled "One Thing" found on the website of New Melleray Abbey, located just outside Dubuque, Iowa. Since the video is not on youtube, I'm not smart enough to figure out how to embed the video here, but its worth clicking on the link:
http://www.newmelleray.org/videos.asp
http://www.newmelleray.org/videos.asp
Sunday, October 6, 2013
The Feast of St. Bruno, Founder of the Carthusian Order
In the Catholic Church, today is the feast day of the founder of the Carthusian order, St. Bruno (Unfortunately, he is not recognized on the Lutheran calendar). Since the Carthusians are strict vegetarians, I wonder how they celebrate a feast? An extra helping of peas?
Anyway, I've written before about my admiration for the Carthusians (see "Carthusian spirituality" posts http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/search/label/Cathusian%20Spirituality), but I have not written much yet about their founder, St. Bruno. He was born in Cologne, Germany, and lived from approximately 1030 - 1101 A.D. Once a professor of theology, he refused an offer to become an archbishop, and began to live as a hermit. Eventually, this led to the beginning of the Carthusian order.
The Carthusians remember him as "having a profound influence over others.... (and) regard him as a spiritual master. He did not transmit more or less esoteric techniques. The structure of the life he lived with his companions is drawn from the classical monastic tradition: hermitages grouped after the fashion of a Palestinian lavra of the early centuries, a solitude in reality, but with the reinforcement of a common life on the one hand, and on the other, certain liturgical offices in common each day. Their piety was fed by the common resources of the Church: the liturgy, the sacraments, the Word of God, Christ.... Bruno saw a life dedicated to the contemplation of God, not as a sacrifice that impoverished, but as the one thing most useful for a human being, the response to our deepest and most real needs." (From "The Call of Silent Love", pp. 7-9).
Friday, October 4, 2013
The Benedictine St. Francis
Today is the day the Church celebrates St. Francis of Assisi. I admit that sometimes when I think about St. Francis, the image that crosses my mind is one of a medieval Dr. Doolittle, wandering around the countryside and taking care of the animals. Based on this icon, I can tell that I am not the only who thinks of that image of St. Francis:
Therefore, I was intrigued by this comment in a review of a new biography of St. Francis:
"Francis cared about the Eucharist, the Daily Office, and poverty much more than he had anything to do with animals or nature. Francis was, contrary to the popular picture of him, a very ecclesial person in both his commitments and in his preoccupations." http://livingchurch.org/francis-and-beyond
Based on that description, St. Francis sounds more like St. Benedict than Dr. Doolittle.
"Most high, omnipotent, good Lord, your servant Francis of Assisi sought to reflect the image of Christ through a life of poverty and humility: Grant your people grace to imitate his joyful love, renounce gladly the vanities of the world, and delight in your whole creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."
(From the "New Book of Festivals and Commemorations" by Philip Pfatteicher).
Therefore, I was intrigued by this comment in a review of a new biography of St. Francis:
"Francis cared about the Eucharist, the Daily Office, and poverty much more than he had anything to do with animals or nature. Francis was, contrary to the popular picture of him, a very ecclesial person in both his commitments and in his preoccupations." http://livingchurch.org/francis-and-beyond
Based on that description, St. Francis sounds more like St. Benedict than Dr. Doolittle.
"Most high, omnipotent, good Lord, your servant Francis of Assisi sought to reflect the image of Christ through a life of poverty and humility: Grant your people grace to imitate his joyful love, renounce gladly the vanities of the world, and delight in your whole creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."
(From the "New Book of Festivals and Commemorations" by Philip Pfatteicher).
Monday, September 30, 2013
Modern Martyrdom in Pakistan
In America, typical sacrifices made to attend worship on Sunday morning relate to giving up our tee time at the golf course, changing the time we have set for brunch, or not in sleeping after a night out on the town.
We have no clue what sacrifice really means, but the worshipers at All Saints Anglican Church in Peshawar, Pakistan do. Over 80 of them were killed last week during a suicide bombing attack during worship.
We have no clue what sacrifice really means, but the worshipers at All Saints Anglican Church in Peshawar, Pakistan do. Over 80 of them were killed last week during a suicide bombing attack during worship.
O God, you make the blood of the martyrs the seed of the church: Grant that we who remember before you the blessed martyrs of Peshawar, who opened in the heart of Pakistan the loving way of your Son Jesus Christ, may like them, persevere unfalteringly in the faith for which they died, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.
(Adapted from the prayer about the Martyrs of Uganda found in "The New Book of Festivals and Commemorations" by Philip Pfatteicher).
UPDATE: Here is a link to a great article on Pakistan's Christian minority: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/2013/09/pakistan-christians-blog.html
UPDATE #2: According to the Bishop of the Anglican Diocese of Peshawar, the death toll from the September 22nd bombing is 127, with 170 injured. Here is a link which contains the Bishop's information, as well as links to sites which offer a way to help.
Monday, September 23, 2013
St. Michael and All Angels
This upcoming Sunday, September 29th, the Western Church celebrates the feast of St. Michael and All Angels. Assuming they follow the lectionary (don't get me started on that subject), many ELCA pastors will probably use the regular lectionary texts of the day for their Scripture readings. As for me, though, instead of observing the 19th Sunday after Pentecost, I'm going to take this opportunity for a break from the "long green season" (green is the liturgical color used during the season after Pentecost) and grab my white vestments out of the closet to celebrate St. Michael's Day (if I wanted to go old school, I could call it "Michaelmas").
I saw a comment on another online forum that we should stay away from observing St. Michael's Day because angels are allegedly part of a so-called "mythology" from a different time. I find that reasoning suspect, given the large number of references to angels in the Bible (for just a few, see my earlier post here - http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/08/want-to-have-encounter-with-angel.html). Additionally, Luther strongly emphasized the role of the angels - both the good ones and the demonic ones (See Heiko Oberman's classic biography, "Luther: Man Between God and the Devil" http://books.google.ca/books?id=ROjEtAGFm1kC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false). Luther's emphasis on the work of the angels can be found in the Small Catechism's Morning and Evening Prayers:
I saw a comment on another online forum that we should stay away from observing St. Michael's Day because angels are allegedly part of a so-called "mythology" from a different time. I find that reasoning suspect, given the large number of references to angels in the Bible (for just a few, see my earlier post here - http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/08/want-to-have-encounter-with-angel.html). Additionally, Luther strongly emphasized the role of the angels - both the good ones and the demonic ones (See Heiko Oberman's classic biography, "Luther: Man Between God and the Devil" http://books.google.ca/books?id=ROjEtAGFm1kC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false). Luther's emphasis on the work of the angels can be found in the Small Catechism's Morning and Evening Prayers:
(LUTHER'S MORNING PRAYER)
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I thank you, my heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Your dear Son, that You have kept me this night from all harm and danger; and I pray that You would keep me this day also from sin and every evil, that all my doings and life may please You. For into Your hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Your holy angel be with me, that the evil foe may have no power over me. Amen.
(LUTHER'S EVENING PRAYER)
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Therefore, regardless of whether or not your congregation celebrates St. Michael's Day, and regardless of whether angels play a role in your personal piety, don't ignore them - as St. Clement wrote in a letter at the end of the first century, the whole multitude of angels stand ready to minister to God's will. (Clement's First Epistle to the Corinthians, Chapter 34).I thank you, my heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Your dear Son, that You have graciously kept me this day; and I pray that You would forgive me all my sins where I have done wrong, and graciously keep me this night. For into Your hands, I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Your holy angel be with me, that the evil foe may have no power over me. Amen.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Mountain Spirituality, Stylite Style
During the occasions when I visit St. Thomas Orthodox Church (see my earlier article http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/06/looking-to-east.html), I still act like a good Lutheran, and always sit in the same pew toward the back of the church. So, I always end up sitting by an icon of St. Simeon the Stylite. Given my interest in what I have called "mountain spirituality" (see my earlier posts here -
http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/search/label/Mountain%20Spirituality), its perhaps no accident that I sit by St. Simeon.
St. Simeon was a Fifth Century hermit-monk who lived for 37 years on top of a small platform. He had developed a reputation as a holy man, so many came to him for prayers and advice, but he desired solitude. So, he ascended to the top of an abandoned pillar in order to live and pray alone.
As you can see in many of the icons depicting St. Simeon, though, he did not achieve his desire for solitude by living on top of the pillar, as many still came to see him. After St. Simeon, others hermits, known as "stylites" followed his ascetic practice of living, praying, and fasting on top of platforms.
I thought this tradition was unique to the Byzantine period, and was therefore extinct. To my surprise, I read an article in yesterday's Huffington Post that this ancient tradition is being revived by a monk who lives in the former Soviet republic of Georgia: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/19/katskhi-pillar-monk-georgia-maxime-qavtaradze_n_3950192.html.
The monk, a 59 year old man named Maxime Qavtaradze, spent time in prison during his younger years, but now, like St. Simeon, offers prayers and counsel to people who come to rock to meet him. But, also like St. Simeon, he lives on the rock because of the solitude: "It is up here in the silence that you can feel God's presence."
http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/search/label/Mountain%20Spirituality), its perhaps no accident that I sit by St. Simeon.
St. Simeon was a Fifth Century hermit-monk who lived for 37 years on top of a small platform. He had developed a reputation as a holy man, so many came to him for prayers and advice, but he desired solitude. So, he ascended to the top of an abandoned pillar in order to live and pray alone.
As you can see in many of the icons depicting St. Simeon, though, he did not achieve his desire for solitude by living on top of the pillar, as many still came to see him. After St. Simeon, others hermits, known as "stylites" followed his ascetic practice of living, praying, and fasting on top of platforms.
I thought this tradition was unique to the Byzantine period, and was therefore extinct. To my surprise, I read an article in yesterday's Huffington Post that this ancient tradition is being revived by a monk who lives in the former Soviet republic of Georgia: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/19/katskhi-pillar-monk-georgia-maxime-qavtaradze_n_3950192.html.
The monk, a 59 year old man named Maxime Qavtaradze, spent time in prison during his younger years, but now, like St. Simeon, offers prayers and counsel to people who come to rock to meet him. But, also like St. Simeon, he lives on the rock because of the solitude: "It is up here in the silence that you can feel God's presence."
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
On Earth as it is in Heaven
I love music.
I'm not really much of a musician, though. I was in band and choir in the small town high school that I attended, and did relatively well there, but there wasn't much competition. That's what my kids tell me, anyway, when I try to brag about being the first chair trumpet player in the Western Iowa Conference honor band during my senior year. I no longer play an instrument, and while my voice has improved due to the constant singing I do as a pastor, I lack the training to excel at vocal music.
However, despite my lack of musicianship, I nevertheless think that I know quite a bit about music because I've listened to so much of it over my lifetime. I haven't made the transition to listening to music via download, but I have boxes full of CDs and vinyl albums that I have collected over the years. On top of that, I don't know how many music groups I have seen perform over the years, but it has to be well into the hundreds - ranging from watching bar bands all the way up to seeing groups like the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd play in stadiums to crowds in excess of 50,000 people. Country, folk, heavy metal, hard rock, classic rock, punk, rap, pop, orchestra, jazz, blues - I've seen it all.
Has my history listening to live music influenced the way I preside over worship, though? Not really. Just because I've seen Mick Jagger twice in concert doesn't mean I want to move like him (apologies to Maroon 5).
Instead, what has influenced my worship style is the belief that what we do during worship should reflect how the angels and saints worship God. How do we know the way they worship God? We see through the mirror dimly, but Isaiah 6, among other passages from the Bible, gives us a clue:
"In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.’"
We can't fly around like the seraphs, but we can sing their song. Their words form the basis of the Sanctus - the "Holy, Holy. Holy" song that is sung by the congregation during the Eucharistic liturgy. When we sing those words, regardless of whatever style of music is used to accompany the words, we mirror the heavenly liturgy. Our voices our joined with the angels in their eternal song of praise.
I am partial to classical forms of the liturgy. When I hear recordings of great Russian choirs singing the Sanctus, it sounds like I have a front row seat to a concert by the choirs of angels and archangels.
I can accept the fact that this kind of music might not appeal to everyone the appeals to me. Regardless of the style of music used to perform the song, though, the words matter. Because of Christ, we participate in God's divine nature (2 Peter 1:4), so why wouldn't we want to participate in those aspects of the heavenly liturgy that have been revealed to us through the visions recorded in Isaiah and elsewhere in the Bible?
When we gather together for worship, we enter into sacred time and space. The veil between heaven and earth is lifted, and our voices can join those of the saints of all ages in the praise of God. Therefore, the words and music of worship should be used in a way that allows us to be in harmony with the angels and saints, instead of merely being a distant echo.
I'm not really much of a musician, though. I was in band and choir in the small town high school that I attended, and did relatively well there, but there wasn't much competition. That's what my kids tell me, anyway, when I try to brag about being the first chair trumpet player in the Western Iowa Conference honor band during my senior year. I no longer play an instrument, and while my voice has improved due to the constant singing I do as a pastor, I lack the training to excel at vocal music.
However, despite my lack of musicianship, I nevertheless think that I know quite a bit about music because I've listened to so much of it over my lifetime. I haven't made the transition to listening to music via download, but I have boxes full of CDs and vinyl albums that I have collected over the years. On top of that, I don't know how many music groups I have seen perform over the years, but it has to be well into the hundreds - ranging from watching bar bands all the way up to seeing groups like the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd play in stadiums to crowds in excess of 50,000 people. Country, folk, heavy metal, hard rock, classic rock, punk, rap, pop, orchestra, jazz, blues - I've seen it all.
Has my history listening to live music influenced the way I preside over worship, though? Not really. Just because I've seen Mick Jagger twice in concert doesn't mean I want to move like him (apologies to Maroon 5).
Instead, what has influenced my worship style is the belief that what we do during worship should reflect how the angels and saints worship God. How do we know the way they worship God? We see through the mirror dimly, but Isaiah 6, among other passages from the Bible, gives us a clue:
"In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.’"
We can't fly around like the seraphs, but we can sing their song. Their words form the basis of the Sanctus - the "Holy, Holy. Holy" song that is sung by the congregation during the Eucharistic liturgy. When we sing those words, regardless of whatever style of music is used to accompany the words, we mirror the heavenly liturgy. Our voices our joined with the angels in their eternal song of praise.
I am partial to classical forms of the liturgy. When I hear recordings of great Russian choirs singing the Sanctus, it sounds like I have a front row seat to a concert by the choirs of angels and archangels.
I can accept the fact that this kind of music might not appeal to everyone the appeals to me. Regardless of the style of music used to perform the song, though, the words matter. Because of Christ, we participate in God's divine nature (2 Peter 1:4), so why wouldn't we want to participate in those aspects of the heavenly liturgy that have been revealed to us through the visions recorded in Isaiah and elsewhere in the Bible?
When we gather together for worship, we enter into sacred time and space. The veil between heaven and earth is lifted, and our voices can join those of the saints of all ages in the praise of God. Therefore, the words and music of worship should be used in a way that allows us to be in harmony with the angels and saints, instead of merely being a distant echo.
Friday, September 13, 2013
More on the Spirituality of Silence
A few months ago, I wrote about the spirituality of silence. (http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-spirituality-of-silence.html). Since then, I've been thinking about how a spirituality of silence might be relevant to those of us who don't live in a monastic cloister, such as the Carthusians that I wrote about in my previous article. I recently came across this passage from a book called "The Jesus Prayer" which emphasizes how times of intentional silence can give us freedom:
"Silence is not just a kind of ascetic discipline that we lay upon ourselves. It is not a clamp over our lips such as a schoolteacher might impose in calling for silence in the schoolroom. Rather silence means freedom from the bondage of words, freedom from the constraints of thought and desire, freedom from the compulsion to go on talking and thinking up ideas and adopting viewpoints and feeling desire - or repressing such feelings. We often read of this in one of our communion hymns:
Let all mortal flesh keep silence
And with fear and trembling stand.....
At last all our inner drive to think and desire and form words can come to end. The whole person can rest and be at peace - and worship Christ."
(from pp. 63-64 of the book "The Jesus Prayer" by Per Olof-Sjogren - a great book about the Eastern Orthodox practice of praying the Jesus Prayer, from the perspective Swedish Lutheran priest).
"Silence is not just a kind of ascetic discipline that we lay upon ourselves. It is not a clamp over our lips such as a schoolteacher might impose in calling for silence in the schoolroom. Rather silence means freedom from the bondage of words, freedom from the constraints of thought and desire, freedom from the compulsion to go on talking and thinking up ideas and adopting viewpoints and feeling desire - or repressing such feelings. We often read of this in one of our communion hymns:
Let all mortal flesh keep silence
And with fear and trembling stand.....
At last all our inner drive to think and desire and form words can come to end. The whole person can rest and be at peace - and worship Christ."
(from pp. 63-64 of the book "The Jesus Prayer" by Per Olof-Sjogren - a great book about the Eastern Orthodox practice of praying the Jesus Prayer, from the perspective Swedish Lutheran priest).
Monday, September 9, 2013
How Not to Pray to Santa Claus
The members of my congregation have heard me preach about how our prayers sometimes seem to be directed to the "great Santa Claus in the sky" - a God who seems to exist to give us stuff when we ask for it. When I make that comment in a sermon, it is largely directed at myself, as I have prayed that way many times. Of course, Jesus told the disciples that we can ask God for what we need ("give us this day our daily bread"), but that does not mean we should tell God to give us whatever we want.
How do we avoid falling into the trap of praying to the "great Santa Claus in the sky"? One way is to remember that a few simple words will do the job. Prayers need not be lengthy petitions or sermons to God. A simple cry to the Lord for mercy will oftentimes suffice, as it seeks union with the very heart of God:
"[T]he prayer for mercy is not a prayer for certain gifts of grace from God, nor a prayer for forgiveness, for strength, for help in the changing fortunes of life, nor a prayer for any particular gift from God, but a cry to God himself, a prayer to his heart, implying: the man who is enfolded in the heart of God needs nothing more.... It is an additional advantage and benefit to pray for everything needful, but praying for contact with the heart of God includes all kinds of prayer: confession of sin, thanksgiving, intercession, praise, petition." (From the book "The Jesus Prayer" by Per-Olof Sjogren).
Also, when we simply pray for mercy, our prayers are joined with the saints of various eras. Each one of the verses of Psalm 136 includes the phrase "for his mercy endures forever." In Luke 18:13, Jesus extolled the virtue of the prayer of the tax collector, which was simply "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." The tax collector's prayer is echoed in the ancient "Jesus Prayer" which has been used for centuries in the Eastern Church: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." The liturgies of both the Eastern and Western Churches include the prayer "Kyrie Eleison" - "Lord, have mercy."
So, the next time we get the urge to make our prayers look like a laundry list directed toward God, remember that the simple request for mercy encompasses a request for what we really need - union with God.
How do we avoid falling into the trap of praying to the "great Santa Claus in the sky"? One way is to remember that a few simple words will do the job. Prayers need not be lengthy petitions or sermons to God. A simple cry to the Lord for mercy will oftentimes suffice, as it seeks union with the very heart of God:
"[T]he prayer for mercy is not a prayer for certain gifts of grace from God, nor a prayer for forgiveness, for strength, for help in the changing fortunes of life, nor a prayer for any particular gift from God, but a cry to God himself, a prayer to his heart, implying: the man who is enfolded in the heart of God needs nothing more.... It is an additional advantage and benefit to pray for everything needful, but praying for contact with the heart of God includes all kinds of prayer: confession of sin, thanksgiving, intercession, praise, petition." (From the book "The Jesus Prayer" by Per-Olof Sjogren).
Also, when we simply pray for mercy, our prayers are joined with the saints of various eras. Each one of the verses of Psalm 136 includes the phrase "for his mercy endures forever." In Luke 18:13, Jesus extolled the virtue of the prayer of the tax collector, which was simply "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." The tax collector's prayer is echoed in the ancient "Jesus Prayer" which has been used for centuries in the Eastern Church: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." The liturgies of both the Eastern and Western Churches include the prayer "Kyrie Eleison" - "Lord, have mercy."
So, the next time we get the urge to make our prayers look like a laundry list directed toward God, remember that the simple request for mercy encompasses a request for what we really need - union with God.
Monday, September 2, 2013
A Labor Day Reflection on Ora et Labora
Today is Labor Day - a secular American holiday, of course, but labor is at the very heart of Benedictine spirituality. The essence of the Rule of St. Benedict is described in the Latin phrase "ora et labora" ("pray and work").
A recent survey of workers in the U.S. and Canada revealed that around 2/3 of workers felt unsatisfied at work. http://www.forbes.com/sites/susanadams/2012/05/18/new-survey-majority-of-employees-dissatisfied/. I suspect that part of the problem is that our society has reduced the concept of work to being a mechanism to receive a paycheck, as opposed to thinking of work as being a vocational calling from God.
The kind of work described in the Rule of St. Benedict is not glorious, but a daily regimen of manual labor, combined with lectio divina ("divine reading"): "Idleness is the soul's enemy, so therefore at determined times, the brothers ought to be organized with manual labor, and again at determined hours in lectio divina. . . . If the necessities of the place or poverty demand that they themselves work at the harvest, they should not be sad. For if they live by the work of their hands, then they are true monks, as were our Fathers and the apostles." (Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 48).
There is no easy cure for the kind of widespread job dissatisfaction mentioned above. It might help, though, if Christians would follow the Benedictine model and carve out some time during each work day to stop, pray, and give thanks to God for the work that has been given to us, which allows us to "live by the work of our hands."
A recent survey of workers in the U.S. and Canada revealed that around 2/3 of workers felt unsatisfied at work. http://www.forbes.com/sites/susanadams/2012/05/18/new-survey-majority-of-employees-dissatisfied/. I suspect that part of the problem is that our society has reduced the concept of work to being a mechanism to receive a paycheck, as opposed to thinking of work as being a vocational calling from God.
The kind of work described in the Rule of St. Benedict is not glorious, but a daily regimen of manual labor, combined with lectio divina ("divine reading"): "Idleness is the soul's enemy, so therefore at determined times, the brothers ought to be organized with manual labor, and again at determined hours in lectio divina. . . . If the necessities of the place or poverty demand that they themselves work at the harvest, they should not be sad. For if they live by the work of their hands, then they are true monks, as were our Fathers and the apostles." (Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 48).
There is no easy cure for the kind of widespread job dissatisfaction mentioned above. It might help, though, if Christians would follow the Benedictine model and carve out some time during each work day to stop, pray, and give thanks to God for the work that has been given to us, which allows us to "live by the work of our hands."
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Lutheran Monastery Virtual Tour - The Final Stop(s)
The end of summer is rapidly approaching, and with it, the end of the summer travel season. So, with that in mind, it is time for me to wrap up our little virtual tour of Lutheran monasteries. Instead of focusing on one monastery as I have done before, I'm going to take us to some of the ones we have missed thus far in our travels.
Amelungsborn Abbey - Germany
The Amelungsborn Abbey began as a Cistercian Monastery in the year 1135. Following the Reformation, Duke Julius of Brunswick implemented the Reformation in his realm in the year 1568, and the abbot and community of Amelungsborn converted to Lutheranism. Andreas Steinhauer was the first Lutheran abbot, and he was the founder of the school for which the abbey is primarily known.
The abbey currently has an abbot and eight brothers, as well as approximately 30 members of a associated lay brotherhood. The following video contains beautiful music and imagery from the abbey - the narration is in German, but it is still enjoyable to watch:
For more information, there is a Wikipedia article in English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amelungsborn_Abbey
Their website (in German) is here: http://www.kloster-amelungsborn.de/
Loccum Abbey - Germany
Loccum Abbey began as a Cisterician monastery in 1163 in the Lower Saxony region of Germany. After the Reformation, the community became Lutheran, and today, the abbot is also the head of a seminary on the grounds of the monastery.
For more information, a Wikipedia article in English can be found here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loccum_Abbey
Their website (in German) can be found here:
http://www.kloster-loccum.de/pages/index.html
Enonkoski Monastery - Finland
In Finland, there is one Lutheran monastery located in an old schoolhouse, currently inhabited by one permanent resident, Sister Virva Tyrväinen. The monastery is a place of quiet, rest, and prayer, offering people the opportunity to go on retreat, or for a short period of silence.
Enonkoski monastery operates as an independent entity, but works with the Mikkeli diocesan bishop, and under the authority of and in cooperation with the Enonkoski chapel of the church.
For more information, there is a short Wikipedia article:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Monastic_Protestant_Community_in_Enonkoski
They have a Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/enonkoskenluostariyhteiso
Also, they have a website (in Finnish):
http://www.luostariyhteiso.fi/
The Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist - United States
Technically, this monastery is a religious community of the Episcopal Church, but I am including it because: (a) some of the five men who founded the community in 1972 were Lutheran, and (b) since 2001, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and The Episcopal Church are in full communion with each other anyway. The monastery is located in the State of Washington, where two of the founding members still live, and the monastery has an active group of oblates (lay members).
(An image of a Celtic cross on the grounds of the monastery)
The monastery follows the Rule of St. Benedict, and their stated goal is to:
“Advancing the Worship, Music and Arts of the Church.”
For more information, their website can be found here: http://brothersofsaintjohn.org
Amelungsborn Abbey - Germany
The Amelungsborn Abbey began as a Cistercian Monastery in the year 1135. Following the Reformation, Duke Julius of Brunswick implemented the Reformation in his realm in the year 1568, and the abbot and community of Amelungsborn converted to Lutheranism. Andreas Steinhauer was the first Lutheran abbot, and he was the founder of the school for which the abbey is primarily known.
The abbey currently has an abbot and eight brothers, as well as approximately 30 members of a associated lay brotherhood. The following video contains beautiful music and imagery from the abbey - the narration is in German, but it is still enjoyable to watch:
For more information, there is a Wikipedia article in English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amelungsborn_Abbey
Their website (in German) is here: http://www.kloster-amelungsborn.de/
Loccum Abbey - Germany
Loccum Abbey began as a Cisterician monastery in 1163 in the Lower Saxony region of Germany. After the Reformation, the community became Lutheran, and today, the abbot is also the head of a seminary on the grounds of the monastery.
For more information, a Wikipedia article in English can be found here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loccum_Abbey
Their website (in German) can be found here:
http://www.kloster-loccum.de/pages/index.html
Enonkoski Monastery - Finland
In Finland, there is one Lutheran monastery located in an old schoolhouse, currently inhabited by one permanent resident, Sister Virva Tyrväinen. The monastery is a place of quiet, rest, and prayer, offering people the opportunity to go on retreat, or for a short period of silence.
Enonkoski monastery operates as an independent entity, but works with the Mikkeli diocesan bishop, and under the authority of and in cooperation with the Enonkoski chapel of the church.
For more information, there is a short Wikipedia article:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Monastic_Protestant_Community_in_Enonkoski
They have a Facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/enonkoskenluostariyhteiso
Also, they have a website (in Finnish):
http://www.luostariyhteiso.fi/
The Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist - United States
Technically, this monastery is a religious community of the Episcopal Church, but I am including it because: (a) some of the five men who founded the community in 1972 were Lutheran, and (b) since 2001, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and The Episcopal Church are in full communion with each other anyway. The monastery is located in the State of Washington, where two of the founding members still live, and the monastery has an active group of oblates (lay members).
(An image of a Celtic cross on the grounds of the monastery)
The monastery follows the Rule of St. Benedict, and their stated goal is to:
“Advancing the Worship, Music and Arts of the Church.”
For more information, their website can be found here: http://brothersofsaintjohn.org
Conclusion
I hope you have enjoyed the virtual tour - I know I have learned a lot while researching these Lutheran monasteries. Hopefully, their existence won't be such a secret in the Lutheran Church anymore!
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Modern Martyrdom
"The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church" ~ Tertullian.
The images and stories coming from Egypt this week have reminded us that martyrs are not merely people from the distant past - people are being killed because of their faith in today's world. At the same time the worldwide Church was honoring Mary on her feast day, St. Virgin Mary Coptic Orthodox Church (one of many churches in Egypt destroyed this week) was burning. Here is an image of the remains of the Church's altar:
Martyrdom is not just something that happens "somewhere else" though. One particular instance of modern martyrdom has captivated me since I first read the story a few years ago. 48 years ago today, on August 20, 1965, Jonathan Myrick Daniels was killed due to actions he took because of his Christian faith, right here in the United States.
Daniels was a seminarian at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Massachusetts in the spring of 1965, when Martin Luther King Jr. put out a call for students and clergy to come to Alabama and participate in a march from Selma to the state capital of Montgomery. Daniels answered the call, and when he missed his bus to go back home, he stayed behind in Selma the rest of that semester to help the civil rights movement. He returned to Cambridge for his final exams, and then went back to Alabama in July.
(An image of Daniels with two children in the house where he stayed in Alabama).
On August 14th, Daniels was arrested for protesting against a "whites only" store, and he was sent to a county jail in Haynesville, Alabama, along with several others. After their release on August 20th, Daniels, along with a Catholic priest and two young African-Americans, went to a local store to get a soft drink. They were met at the door by the store's owner, Tom Coleman, who was carrying a shotgun. When Coleman aimed the gun at 17 year old Ruby Sales, Daniels pushed her away, and he caught the full impact of the blast in his chest, killing him instantly.
The story of his murder was reported nationally in the immediate aftermath of his death, and once again after his killer was acquitted by an all-white Alabama jury.
At his funeral, one of his professors read from a paper that Daniels wrote and submitted on June 22, 1965, entitled "Theological Reflections on My Experience in Selma." Quoting the Magnificat (the song of Mary), Daniels wrote:
"All of this is the raw material for living theology. And yet in as deep a sense, from my point of view, it is the product of living theology. The doctrines of the creeds, the enacted faith of the sacraments, were the essential preconditions of the experience itself. The faith with which I went to Selma has not changed: it has grown. Darkening coals have kindled. Faith has taken wing and flown with a song in its wings. 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my Spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior...'
I lost fear in the black belt (referring to a region in Alabama known for its dark soil) when I began to know in my bones and sinews that I had truly been baptized into the Lord's Death and Resurrection, that in the only sense that really matters I am already dead, and my life is hid with Christ in God."
(Quoted in the book "Outside Agitator" by Charles W. Eagles, p. 183).
The images and stories coming from Egypt this week have reminded us that martyrs are not merely people from the distant past - people are being killed because of their faith in today's world. At the same time the worldwide Church was honoring Mary on her feast day, St. Virgin Mary Coptic Orthodox Church (one of many churches in Egypt destroyed this week) was burning. Here is an image of the remains of the Church's altar:
Martyrdom is not just something that happens "somewhere else" though. One particular instance of modern martyrdom has captivated me since I first read the story a few years ago. 48 years ago today, on August 20, 1965, Jonathan Myrick Daniels was killed due to actions he took because of his Christian faith, right here in the United States.
Daniels was a seminarian at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge, Massachusetts in the spring of 1965, when Martin Luther King Jr. put out a call for students and clergy to come to Alabama and participate in a march from Selma to the state capital of Montgomery. Daniels answered the call, and when he missed his bus to go back home, he stayed behind in Selma the rest of that semester to help the civil rights movement. He returned to Cambridge for his final exams, and then went back to Alabama in July.
(An image of Daniels with two children in the house where he stayed in Alabama).
On August 14th, Daniels was arrested for protesting against a "whites only" store, and he was sent to a county jail in Haynesville, Alabama, along with several others. After their release on August 20th, Daniels, along with a Catholic priest and two young African-Americans, went to a local store to get a soft drink. They were met at the door by the store's owner, Tom Coleman, who was carrying a shotgun. When Coleman aimed the gun at 17 year old Ruby Sales, Daniels pushed her away, and he caught the full impact of the blast in his chest, killing him instantly.
The story of his murder was reported nationally in the immediate aftermath of his death, and once again after his killer was acquitted by an all-white Alabama jury.
At his funeral, one of his professors read from a paper that Daniels wrote and submitted on June 22, 1965, entitled "Theological Reflections on My Experience in Selma." Quoting the Magnificat (the song of Mary), Daniels wrote:
"All of this is the raw material for living theology. And yet in as deep a sense, from my point of view, it is the product of living theology. The doctrines of the creeds, the enacted faith of the sacraments, were the essential preconditions of the experience itself. The faith with which I went to Selma has not changed: it has grown. Darkening coals have kindled. Faith has taken wing and flown with a song in its wings. 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my Spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior...'
I lost fear in the black belt (referring to a region in Alabama known for its dark soil) when I began to know in my bones and sinews that I had truly been baptized into the Lord's Death and Resurrection, that in the only sense that really matters I am already dead, and my life is hid with Christ in God."
(Quoted in the book "Outside Agitator" by Charles W. Eagles, p. 183).
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Mary and the Modern Church
In my denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), today is the day on the Church's calendar when we celebrate the life and witness of Mary, Mother of Our Lord. In the Episcopal Church, today is known as the feast day of St. Mary the Virgin, Mother of Our Lord. Catholic and Orthodox Christians celebrate Mary on several days each year, and today is known as the day they celebrate her assumption into heaven (Catholic) or dormition ("falling asleep" - Orthodox).
(Icon of the Dormition by Theophan the Greek, from the year 1392).
Late yesterday afternoon, on the eve of the day when the Church remembers Mary, our Churchwide Assembly elected a new Presiding Bishop, Elizabeth Eaton, who is the current Bishop of the Northeastern Ohio Synod. I wasn't able to watch all of the election process online, but from what I did see, I suspect she gained a lot of support during the voting because of her candor in answering the questions posed to the nominees. It was refreshing to hear someone acknowledge where we are as a denomination - wounded from battles that have raged about various matters since the merger that formed the ELCA 25 years ago, and the loss of almost 25% of its membership in those 25 years.
Also, judging from the various social media conversations about the election, once her candidacy gained some traction, a lot of the talk centered around the fact that her election would be historic - she would be the ELCA's first female Presiding Bishop. Just a few years ago, the Episcopal Church elected its first female Presiding Bishop, Katherine Jefferts Schori.
I find it somewhat ironic that despite all of the talk about the leadership of women in the modern American denominations that descend from the Protestant Reformation, the leadership of Mary is still ignored by many.
The typical Protestant reasoning for avoiding any discussion about Mary is the allegation that it takes the focus away from Jesus. To the contrary, the life of Mary points to her Son. For example, this reflection by a Benedictine monk (incorporating Eastern Orthodox theology) on the dormition shows how the role of Mary, properly understood, glorifies Christ:
"At Mary's death her Son appears like a heavenly midwife who has helped his mother give birth to herself into eternity. Her newborn soul is represented as a child wrapped in swaddling clothes, a thought-provoking reversal of his own physical birth when she wrapped him in swaddling bands and laid him in the manger (Lk 2:7). She gave birth to him into time: now he regenerates her into eternity. It is Mary's personal pascha/transitus, her journey through death to life: but like that of all other believers it is accomplished not through her own strength but because of the paschal mystery of her Son."
(From p. 264 of "Meeting Christ in His Mysteries: A Benedictine Vision of the Spiritual Life" by Gregory Collins, OSB).
When she spoke to the assembly yesterday, Bishop Eaton talked about the importance of the theology of the cross. Who was at the foot of the cross, watching the crucifixion of her Son? Mary. John 19:26-27 tells us: "When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, 'Woman, here is your son.' Then he said to the disciple, 'Here is your mother.' And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home."
A theology of the cross that does not place us at the foot of the cross alongside Mary is no theology of the cross at all.
(Icon of the Dormition by Theophan the Greek, from the year 1392).
Late yesterday afternoon, on the eve of the day when the Church remembers Mary, our Churchwide Assembly elected a new Presiding Bishop, Elizabeth Eaton, who is the current Bishop of the Northeastern Ohio Synod. I wasn't able to watch all of the election process online, but from what I did see, I suspect she gained a lot of support during the voting because of her candor in answering the questions posed to the nominees. It was refreshing to hear someone acknowledge where we are as a denomination - wounded from battles that have raged about various matters since the merger that formed the ELCA 25 years ago, and the loss of almost 25% of its membership in those 25 years.
Also, judging from the various social media conversations about the election, once her candidacy gained some traction, a lot of the talk centered around the fact that her election would be historic - she would be the ELCA's first female Presiding Bishop. Just a few years ago, the Episcopal Church elected its first female Presiding Bishop, Katherine Jefferts Schori.
I find it somewhat ironic that despite all of the talk about the leadership of women in the modern American denominations that descend from the Protestant Reformation, the leadership of Mary is still ignored by many.
The typical Protestant reasoning for avoiding any discussion about Mary is the allegation that it takes the focus away from Jesus. To the contrary, the life of Mary points to her Son. For example, this reflection by a Benedictine monk (incorporating Eastern Orthodox theology) on the dormition shows how the role of Mary, properly understood, glorifies Christ:
"At Mary's death her Son appears like a heavenly midwife who has helped his mother give birth to herself into eternity. Her newborn soul is represented as a child wrapped in swaddling clothes, a thought-provoking reversal of his own physical birth when she wrapped him in swaddling bands and laid him in the manger (Lk 2:7). She gave birth to him into time: now he regenerates her into eternity. It is Mary's personal pascha/transitus, her journey through death to life: but like that of all other believers it is accomplished not through her own strength but because of the paschal mystery of her Son."
(From p. 264 of "Meeting Christ in His Mysteries: A Benedictine Vision of the Spiritual Life" by Gregory Collins, OSB).
When she spoke to the assembly yesterday, Bishop Eaton talked about the importance of the theology of the cross. Who was at the foot of the cross, watching the crucifixion of her Son? Mary. John 19:26-27 tells us: "When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, 'Woman, here is your son.' Then he said to the disciple, 'Here is your mother.' And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home."
A theology of the cross that does not place us at the foot of the cross alongside Mary is no theology of the cross at all.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Want to Have an Encounter with an Angel?
Angels have been in the news again this week because of the mystery surrounding the appearance of an unknown priest at the scene of a serious car accident in Missouri. If you haven't read about it yet, here's an example of one of the many news stories about the event:
http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/08/07/angel-crash-missouri/2630227/
I'm not going to speculate regarding the nature of this event, although it is intriguing. The point of this article is that we don't have to get into a traumatic situation, like a car crash, to have an encounter with the angels.
Chapter 19 of the Rule of St. Benedict notes that when we join in the daily prayer of the Church, our voices are in harmony with the voices of the angels:
"We believe that God is everywhere, and the Lord sees both good and evil in all places. Without doubt, we believe this is so especially when assisting in the Divine Office. Remember the prophet: 'Serve the Lord in fear' (Ps. 2:10), and 'Sing His praises with understanding' (Ps. 47:7) and also 'In the sight of angels I will sing praise to You' (Ps. 138:1). Let us consider our place in sight of God and of his angels. Let us rise in chanting that our hearts and voices harmonize."
The same is true with the Eucharist. At the conclusion of the preface, the celebrant chants: "With all the choirs of angels, with the church on earth and the hosts of heaven, we praise your name and join their unending hymn..." This leads into the singing of the Sanctus ("Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might..."), which is the song sung by the seraphim in the presence of the Lord (Isaiah 6:1-3).
Skepticism about angels abounds in modern society, no doubt caused in part by the image that many people have of angels, which has been shaped by art and movies. ("Its a Wonderful Life" and "Angels in the Outfield" are two examples of cute, but misleading, depictions of angels). Angels play a crucial role in the Biblical story, though, as they serve as messengers of warning (Genesis 19 - the story of Sodom and Gomorrah) and hope (Luke 1:26-38 - the appearance of the angel to Mary).
In the daily life of a Christian, the presence of angels around us should give us comfort, for as noted by Russian Orthodox theologian Sergius Bulgakov, they are "standing before the throne of God, live a common life with us, and are united by the bonds of love." (from "Jacob's Ladder: On Angels" p. 164).
(The icon at the beginning of this article is found at Bethel Lutheran Church, University City, Missouri - you can read about it here: http://www.bethel-ucity.org/asp/art.asp).
UPDATE 8/13/13: The mystery priest has been identified. http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/13/us/missouri-mystery-priest/index.html
Monday, August 5, 2013
Lest we forget how difficult monastic life can be....
One of the dangers of learning about a subject through reading, without obtaining a firsthand experience of the subject, is that it is easy to get a false sense of the true nature of the subject. In religious circles, for example, there are stories floating around the internet from frustrated converts who became Catholic, Orthodox, or a particular brand of Protestantism by reading their way into that church, without getting a real sense of what the church was like through personal experience before entering it.
I confess that I am guilty of having an overly sentimental view of monastic life because I have read about it, but not lived it. A life of silence and prayer seems appealing when the maelstrom of life reaches a fever pitch.
This article about a story from Sicily should cure me, and anyone who reads it, of that overly sentimental view: "Criminal serving his sentence with monks pleads to be sent back to prison....because monastery life is too hard."
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2081757/Criminal-serving-sentence-monks-pleads-sent-prison--monastery-life-hard.html
(Thanks to Matthew Dallman for the link, and for noting the appropriate nature of the article's last line: "Nobody at the Santa Maria community was available for comment").
I confess that I am guilty of having an overly sentimental view of monastic life because I have read about it, but not lived it. A life of silence and prayer seems appealing when the maelstrom of life reaches a fever pitch.
This article about a story from Sicily should cure me, and anyone who reads it, of that overly sentimental view: "Criminal serving his sentence with monks pleads to be sent back to prison....because monastery life is too hard."
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2081757/Criminal-serving-sentence-monks-pleads-sent-prison--monastery-life-hard.html
(Thanks to Matthew Dallman for the link, and for noting the appropriate nature of the article's last line: "Nobody at the Santa Maria community was available for comment").
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Meeting the Saints at the Altar
As a pastor, sometimes it is a struggle to come up with the right words to say to someone who has suffered a loss in their lives, particularly the death of a loved one. In seminary and Clinical Pastoral Education ("CPE") we are trained (and rightfully so) to avoid resorting to trite sayings that do more harm than good ("God must have needed another angel in heaven" is just plain wrong for multiple reasons). So, I know what not to say, but it is still difficult to know what I should say.
A few months ago, I visited an elderly woman from my congregation whose husband died several years ago. She shared with me that she was still having great difficulty dealing with losing him and living alone. So, the dilemma of what to say to someone in her situation arose once again.
The purpose of my visit was to bring her communion, so I remembered something I had read once about how the Eucharist brings us together with the saints who have gone before us, so I mentioned to her that when she received communion that day, she would be joined with him.
I didn't think much of the conversation afterwards, other than hoping that I didn't say the wrong thing. Recently, when I visited her again to bring her communion, one of the first things she said was how she had appreciated those words and had thought about them since that first visit.
So, that prompted me to look up where I had read about meeting the saints at the altar during communion, and I found what I was looking for in a book that is little known outside of "Evangelical Catholic" Lutherans (I still have mixed feelings about that label - http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/05/evangelical-catholic-lutheranism.html) called "The Presence - an Approach to Holy Communion." Recently reprinted by the American Lutheran Publicity Bureau, the book is a gorgeous reflection on the Eucharist by a Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod pastor named Berthold Von Schenk, who was at the vanguard of the 20th century liturgical movement, as expressed within American Lutheranism.
This was the specific passage from the book that I was thinking of when I attempted to comfort her that day:
"We cannot divide the body of Christ. The Church militant and the Church triumphant form one Church. Nothing can separate the members of the Church, neither life nor death, nor powers, nor principalities. At the altar we have fellowship with our risen and ascended Lord. But there is also a fellowship with all the members of the Church. At the altar we join hands not only with the great saints in heaven, but also with all our loved ones who have passed within the veil, our faithful departed.
We must come to a sense of the continuing presence of our loves ones, and we can do this if we realize the presence of our living Lord. As we seek and find our risen Lord we shall also find our dear departed. They are with Him, and we find the reality of their continued life through Him. The saints are a part of the Church. We worship with them. They worship the risen Christ face to face, while we worship the same risen Christ under the veil of bread and wine at the altar. At the Communion we are linked with heaven, with the Communion of Saints, with our loved ones. Here at the altar, focused to a point, we find our communion with the dead; for the altar is the closest meeting place between us and our Lord. That place must be the place of closest meeting with our dead who are in His keeping. The altar is the trysting place where we meet our beloved Lord. It must, therefore, also be the trysting place where me meet our loved ones, for they are with the Lord."
And then, in a passage that would put a serious dent in the business of flower shops everywhere if his advice was followed, Von Schenk wrote:
"How pathetic it is to see men and women going out to the cemetery, kneeling at the mound, placing little sprays of flowers and wiping their tears from their eyes, and knowing nothing else. How hopeless they look. Oh, that we could take them by the hand, away from the grave, out through the cemetery gate, in through the door of the church, and up the nave to the very altar itself, and there put them in touch, not with the dead body of their loved one, but with the living soul who is with Christ at the altar.
(pp. 118-121 of the 2010 ALPB printing of "The Presence"). For more information about the book, including how to order it, go here: http://www.alpb.org/presence.html
A few months ago, I visited an elderly woman from my congregation whose husband died several years ago. She shared with me that she was still having great difficulty dealing with losing him and living alone. So, the dilemma of what to say to someone in her situation arose once again.
The purpose of my visit was to bring her communion, so I remembered something I had read once about how the Eucharist brings us together with the saints who have gone before us, so I mentioned to her that when she received communion that day, she would be joined with him.
I didn't think much of the conversation afterwards, other than hoping that I didn't say the wrong thing. Recently, when I visited her again to bring her communion, one of the first things she said was how she had appreciated those words and had thought about them since that first visit.
So, that prompted me to look up where I had read about meeting the saints at the altar during communion, and I found what I was looking for in a book that is little known outside of "Evangelical Catholic" Lutherans (I still have mixed feelings about that label - http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/05/evangelical-catholic-lutheranism.html) called "The Presence - an Approach to Holy Communion." Recently reprinted by the American Lutheran Publicity Bureau, the book is a gorgeous reflection on the Eucharist by a Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod pastor named Berthold Von Schenk, who was at the vanguard of the 20th century liturgical movement, as expressed within American Lutheranism.
This was the specific passage from the book that I was thinking of when I attempted to comfort her that day:
"We cannot divide the body of Christ. The Church militant and the Church triumphant form one Church. Nothing can separate the members of the Church, neither life nor death, nor powers, nor principalities. At the altar we have fellowship with our risen and ascended Lord. But there is also a fellowship with all the members of the Church. At the altar we join hands not only with the great saints in heaven, but also with all our loved ones who have passed within the veil, our faithful departed.
****
We must come to a sense of the continuing presence of our loves ones, and we can do this if we realize the presence of our living Lord. As we seek and find our risen Lord we shall also find our dear departed. They are with Him, and we find the reality of their continued life through Him. The saints are a part of the Church. We worship with them. They worship the risen Christ face to face, while we worship the same risen Christ under the veil of bread and wine at the altar. At the Communion we are linked with heaven, with the Communion of Saints, with our loved ones. Here at the altar, focused to a point, we find our communion with the dead; for the altar is the closest meeting place between us and our Lord. That place must be the place of closest meeting with our dead who are in His keeping. The altar is the trysting place where we meet our beloved Lord. It must, therefore, also be the trysting place where me meet our loved ones, for they are with the Lord."
And then, in a passage that would put a serious dent in the business of flower shops everywhere if his advice was followed, Von Schenk wrote:
"How pathetic it is to see men and women going out to the cemetery, kneeling at the mound, placing little sprays of flowers and wiping their tears from their eyes, and knowing nothing else. How hopeless they look. Oh, that we could take them by the hand, away from the grave, out through the cemetery gate, in through the door of the church, and up the nave to the very altar itself, and there put them in touch, not with the dead body of their loved one, but with the living soul who is with Christ at the altar.
****
The Blessed Sacrament links us not merely to Bethlehem and Calvary, but to the whole world beyond the grave as well, for at the altar the infinite is shrined in the finite; heaven stoops down to earth; and the seen and the unseen are met." (pp. 118-121 of the 2010 ALPB printing of "The Presence"). For more information about the book, including how to order it, go here: http://www.alpb.org/presence.html
Monday, July 29, 2013
A Benedictine Response to the Generational and Worship Wars?
A recent blog article by Rachel Held Evans has been making the rounds on the internet regarding the relationship of the Millenial Generation to the Church - specifically, regarding why many Millenials are leaving the Church: http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/millennials-church-cnn
Unlike Evans, who is on the borderline between Generation X and the Millenial Generation, I am firmly planted within Generation X. I grew up with the original Star Wars trilogy, which was released when I was in elementary and middle school. I was in college when the transition between 80's rock and pop to 90's grunge and alternative music occurred. The gates of the world wide web were opened to the general public when I was in law school, and the development of advanced mobile phone technology occurred well into my adulthood.
I do not pretend to speak for Generation X or for any other generation, but as someone who will turn 43 next month, my vantage point (halfway between the Baby Boomers and the Millenials) has given me the opportunity to observe the different generations. I am old enough to remember the time when it could be assumed that the vast majority of people around me had some sort of tangible connection to a congregation, but am young enough to be a part of a generation where large numbers of people my age are completely disconnected from the Church.
Some of the online debate regarding the Evans article has included a discussion of this sentence regarding Millenials who do not leave the Church, but trade Evangelical Christianity for something different: "Many of us, myself included, are finding ourselves increasingly drawn to high church traditions – Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, the Episcopal Church, etc. – precisely because the ancient forms of liturgy seem so unpretentious, so unconcerned with being 'cool,' and we find that refreshingly authentic."
Personally, I hope her statement is true. A few personal anecdotes come to mind which offer some support for her observation - for example, I know a 30 year old lawyer who specifically wanted a church that uses the traditional Lutheran liturgy. However, it seems that a large number of the young adults who are in the Church continue to gravitate toward non-traditional worship services.
At times, it may seem like there is no way to reconcile the two disparate forms of worship preference. People who want large evangelical-style worship services, dominated by a 30-45 minute sermons on topical subjects intermixed with lines of Scripture, surrounded by rock and pop music, probably wouldn't be comfortable attending a place like my small but loyal congregation, where the sermon is typically around 10 minutes long, surrounded by chant, hymns, intercessory prayers, and the Eucharist.
The Benedictine way perhaps offers some common ground, though, which can be incorporated into the life of any type of Christian, regardless of what generation they come from or what style of worship they prefer:
- It does not demand a particular way of preaching, but it does demand daily reading and meditation on Scripture.
- It does not demand a particular music style, but it does demand use of the songbook of the Bible, the Psalms.
- It does not demand particular words to be used in prayer, but describes how prayers should be offered to God.
- It does not tell us how to act within the political realm, but it does tell us to act with reverence toward God, with a spirit of humility, and to welcome and care for those around us who need help.
The Benedictine way does not solve all of the problems that Millenials (and those of other generations) have with the Church, nor does it resolve the "worship wars." Perhaps, though, the Rule of St. Benedict can be a common resource for Christians attempting to discern what has happened to the Church, and how the Holy Spirit might be moving us toward greater unity in the future.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
A Truly "Radical" Faith
The word "radical" is so over-used in modern Christianity that I suspect the word has lost its ability to convey a sense that something is extreme or shocking. Liberal and emergent Christians like to talk about "radical inclusion" or "radical welcome." Evangelicals talk about "radical discipleship." Lutherans talk about "radical grace." Sometimes I wonder whether the word "radical" has been used to the point that the word has become a cliche, and therefore isn't very "radical" anymore.
So, with that in mind, I usually hesitate to use the "r" word when writing or talking about Jesus, the Church, or Christianity in general.
But, I recently came across a new use of the "r" word when I reached the final few chapters of "The Call of Silent Love" - a book by Carthusian monks who live a life of solitude (if you click on the "Carthusian Spirituality" label at the bottom of this post, you will be linked to my earlier posts about the Carthusians). If anyone has the right to use the word "radical" in connection with their faith, it is the Carthusians.
The Carthusians use the word "radical" to explain the life-changing effect that God's grace has on our lives (I've highlighted the "r" word when it us used):
"The Christian, through union with Christ in baptism and sanctifying grace, participates in the life of Christ. We receive within ourselves a new life-principle, the Holy Spirit, new faculties for knowing with God's knowledge and loving with God's love. The light of faith opens on to the mystery of the human being and God. The unfolding of this life at once assumes and surpasses natural human life; in this we see our deepest desire fulfilled although it is hidden and cannot be realized by natural powers alone.
There is both continuity and radical disjunction. In the deepest reality of the human face is traced the image of God, thanks to an increasingly profound conformity with Christ, effected interiorly by the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:18). Up to this point the self had struggled for self-affirmation in all the riches of its personality. The Gospel demands that we lose our life to gain it, so that it may be 'no longer I but Christ who lives in me.' The center around which our being is organized is henceforth no longer our self but Christ.
At every level there is radical transcendence. Let us go through the list from top to bottom. The great strength of affirmation and aggression that is found in us reaches paradoxical fulfillment in self-abnegation, obedience, gentleness, humility, and forbearance. The lust for possessions ends in the freedom of voluntary poverty, the thirst for knowledge in silence before the mystery, the desire for communion of love in the purity of the total gift of self to the Other." (pp. 167-68, 170)
"Radical transcendence" - that's a use of the "r" word I think I can accept. Let's just hope I don't over-use it.
So, with that in mind, I usually hesitate to use the "r" word when writing or talking about Jesus, the Church, or Christianity in general.
But, I recently came across a new use of the "r" word when I reached the final few chapters of "The Call of Silent Love" - a book by Carthusian monks who live a life of solitude (if you click on the "Carthusian Spirituality" label at the bottom of this post, you will be linked to my earlier posts about the Carthusians). If anyone has the right to use the word "radical" in connection with their faith, it is the Carthusians.
The Carthusians use the word "radical" to explain the life-changing effect that God's grace has on our lives (I've highlighted the "r" word when it us used):
"The Christian, through union with Christ in baptism and sanctifying grace, participates in the life of Christ. We receive within ourselves a new life-principle, the Holy Spirit, new faculties for knowing with God's knowledge and loving with God's love. The light of faith opens on to the mystery of the human being and God. The unfolding of this life at once assumes and surpasses natural human life; in this we see our deepest desire fulfilled although it is hidden and cannot be realized by natural powers alone.
There is both continuity and radical disjunction. In the deepest reality of the human face is traced the image of God, thanks to an increasingly profound conformity with Christ, effected interiorly by the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:18). Up to this point the self had struggled for self-affirmation in all the riches of its personality. The Gospel demands that we lose our life to gain it, so that it may be 'no longer I but Christ who lives in me.' The center around which our being is organized is henceforth no longer our self but Christ.
At every level there is radical transcendence. Let us go through the list from top to bottom. The great strength of affirmation and aggression that is found in us reaches paradoxical fulfillment in self-abnegation, obedience, gentleness, humility, and forbearance. The lust for possessions ends in the freedom of voluntary poverty, the thirst for knowledge in silence before the mystery, the desire for communion of love in the purity of the total gift of self to the Other." (pp. 167-68, 170)
"Radical transcendence" - that's a use of the "r" word I think I can accept. Let's just hope I don't over-use it.
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