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. 

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. 

Thoughts from a Benedictine on the Sacramental Nature of Scripture

Today in the mail, I received a book called "Meeting Christ in His Mysteries: A Benedictine Vision of the Spiritual Life" by Gregory Collins, OSB. While I was skimming through parts of it this evening, I noticed a passage entitled "The Sacramental Mystery of Scripture." 

Since I wrote a blog post on that same subject a few months ago (http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-sacramental-quality-of-reading.html), I have been thinking about how viewing Scripture as a sacrament cuts through the tired debates about the Bible that seem to be largely driven by American Protestants.  Conservative American Protestants demand allegiance to a belief in the inerrancy and infallibility of Scripture.  Liberal American Protestants are all over the map on how to view Scripture, but are united in their opposition to believing that it is inerrant and infallible.

Here is a quote from the book which offers some support to what I think is a better way to think about Scripture - the way that Scripture has been traditionally viewed throughout the history of the Church before the recent American debates came along:

"Because Christianity is an historical religion based on the real incarnation of God in time and space, the Catholic and Orthodox churches do not accept a fundamentalist reading of the Bible.  Scripture mediates God's word in the most privileged way. It is the written record of God's living voice and a constant source for the church not only of life and consolation but also of challenge and rebuke. But the written text cannot simply be identified in a simplistic way with the Word as such, any more than the flesh of Christ may be simplistically described as 'God' in an absolute sense: by analogy with Christ's humanity, human words are joined to the Word and become transparent to the divine."  (p. 65)

Luther's view of Scripture as being like a cradle that holds Christ would seem to be consistent with this approach, which is beholden to neither fundamentalism nor modern skepticism.  Instead of aligning himself with modern American Protestants at either end of the spectrum, then, I think Luther would by sympathetic with this sentiment from the 20th century Benedictine theologian, Dom Odo Casel (quoted in the book at page 63):

"The fathers, with the light of faith to guide them, saw everywhere - in the law, the prophets, the acts of Old Testament kings and saints, here more clearly, there less - the figure of Jesus, glowing in the half-darkness, until it emerges in the gospel's brightness.  What the ancients gradually and wearily came to was as clear as the noonday when the world's own light shone: the keys to all mysteries were in Christ; when this unfailing instrument, the key of David, is put to the explaining of Scripture, the whole beauty, depth, and clarity of Christian allegory is seen for what it really is in the liturgy.  Its heart is the redeeming work of Christ and everything we read and pray in these texts points to that."

Lutheran Monastery Virtual Tour Stop #4 - Isenhagen Abbey

While I was thinking about resuming our little virtual tour of Lutheran monasteries, it occurred to me that all of the places we have visited so far have had monks, not nuns.  So, with that mind, our next stop is Isenhagen Abbey, a convent for Lutheran women. 

Located in the Lower Saxony region of Germany, the convent dates back to the year 1243, when it was founded as a friary for Cistercian monks.  The friary burned down only 16 years later, and when it was rebuilt in 1262, it changed to a convent.  The convent moved to its current location in Hankensbuttel in 1329. At the time of the Reformation in Germany, the convent became a home for Lutheran nuns.

The Gothic buildings of the Abbey are the home of a collection of medieval furniture and works of art.  The interior contains carved and painted altars, sculptures, as well as paintings for private devotions. A slideshow of the beautiful interior of the Abbey can be found at this link on their website: http://www.kloster-isenhagen.de/fotos.html

Women who enter the Abbey are typically in their 60s, and have retired from their previous occupations.  When an interested woman desires to enter the convent, she must first go to the Abbess.  If  the aspirant fits into the community, she lives in the monastery for trial periods of time, such as weekends and weeklong stretches.  Eventually, the aspirant has a final meeting with the Abbess, and it is decided whether or not she will be included in the community. 

In case of positive decision, she will then move to one of the simple rooms in the Abbey for a probationary period.  In the event of a successful completion of the probationary period, the nun is welcomed via a solemn introduction into the community. The Church's blessing is given by the parish priest and the Abbess, in the presence of guests from her family, as well as the public.

From their website, it was unclear to me whether they follow a specific monastic rule, such as the Rule of St. Benedict, but the site does mention that the nuns come together each day for prayer and devotions.  The primary duties of the nuns revolve around taking care of the grounds, and offering guided tours of the Abbey to visitors. 

For more information and pictures of the Abbey, their website (which is in German - hopefully Google's translator did not lead me too far astray) is located here:

http://www.kloster-isenhagen.de/

 

A Prayer for St. Benedict's Day

Today, July 11, is the day when the Church commemorates St. Benedict, and it is also an appropriate day to remember his sister, St. Scholastica. 

Almighty and everlasting God, you made your servant Benedict to teach us how to live in your service: Grant that by preferring your love to everything else and following the examples of Benedict and Scholastica, we may ever walk in the way of your commandments; through your Son 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)

The Origins of Lutheran Monks

Now that our family has returned from our vacation, described in my posts on Mountain Spirituality, I will soon resume the virtual tour of Lutheran monasteries.  In the meantime, I came across a brief historical note on a blog called "The Conciliar Anglican" about the origins of Lutheran monasticism.

The blog article is entitled "Ask an Anglican: What is Anglican Monasticism?" but it contains the following information about the history of Lutheran monks:

"[B]y the fifteenth century there were a large number of unofficial monastic movements. The most famous of these is the Devotio Moderna (literally ‘the Modern Devotion’, but also translatable as ‘the Modern-Day Devout’). The Devotio Moderna was primarily expressed in the Brethren of the Common Life. . . . 

For reasons that I know little about, the Roman Catholic church formally banned the Brethren of the Common Life at the Council of Trent. They lived on, however, in Lutheran lands until the nineteenth century. Martin Luther had a soft spot for them—no doubt because so much of their work consisted in educating the young, which Luther was a strong proponent of. Contrary to what is popularly assumed, the Lutherans did not formally ban monasticism; several Benedictine houses joined the Lutheran movement in the sixteenth century and still today there are Lutheran monasteries and convents. Although the Lutheran confessions were sharply critical of sixteenth-century monastic practice, they never formally rejected monasticism. I do not write this to argue that Lutheranism was somehow ‘more Catholic’ than later Protestant groups. Rather, I write this as a matter of fact: the Brethren of the Common Life were, together with the Lutheran Benedictines, part of the Lutheran tradition from pretty much the beginning."

The entire article can be read here: http://conciliaranglican.com/2013/07/08/ask-an-anglican-what-is-anglican-monasticism/

Additional Reflections on Mountain Spirituality

"Many nations shall come and say: 'Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord.'" (Micah 4:2).

In addition to hiking to the summit of Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park, our family had the opportunity to view several other natural landmarks during our family vacation to South Dakota and Wyoming.  During our visit to these places, I was reminded that long before the connection between Christian spirituality and mountains, Native Americans believed that mountains were sacred.

Devils Tower, Wyoming, was famously depicted in the movie "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" as landing pad for alien space ships, but for centuries, multiple tribes have believed that this unique geological formation is sacred. (All pictures were taken by my wife, Jenny, from her iPhone).

In central Wyoming, we encountered the snow capped Bighorn Mountains just before a powerful thunderstorm blew in from the plains.  

Archeological evidence has shown that tribes have used areas in the Bighorn Mountains (particularly the Medicine Wheel on Medicine Mountain) as a place for sacred ceremonies for over 7,000 years.   I wonder if Custer knew how much they cherished the area when he led the Seventh Cavalry of the U.S. Army into the region on his last mission.  In this picture of the monument on top of "Last Stand Hill" you can see a faint image of the Bighorn Mountains on the western horizon,  looming over the site of the Little Bighorn battlefield.

Finally, on our last day of vacation, we drove past Bear Butte, at the edge of the Black Hills near Sturgis, South Dakota. Referred to as Matho-Paha (Bear Mountain) by the Lakota, and Noaha-Vose (Giving Hill) by the Cheyenne, Bear Butte remains a place where members of many tribes make pilgrimages each year.

As a person whose ancestors came from Denmark and Great Britain, I have only a limited perspective on the importance of these mountains to Native Americans.  This vacation, though, will make me think of those mountains while praying Psalms like these during daily prayer:

"I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth" (Psalm 121:1-2).

"Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy" (Psalm 98:8).

 "In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also" (Psalm 95:4).

Unfortunately, many places that are sacred to Native Americans have been disturbed.  For example, the location of Bear Butte is immediately adjacent to the campground where the famous (infamous?) Sturgis motorcycle rally occurs each year, which makes for an interesting juxtaposition between the sacred and the profane.  Hopefully, in the future, our society will do a better job of respecting places that are considered to be holy ground.     
 

Mountain Spirituality

During our family vacation to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, we hiked up Mount Washburn, elevation 10, 243 feet (3,122 meters).  It is one of the highest points in Yellowstone, offering spectacular vistas of the area, with snow capped peaks visible in all directions.

While I am not an avid mountain hiker (living in Iowa makes that somewhat difficult), I do enjoy day hikes to mountain summits whenever I can.  While I understand that God is not limited to being "up there" somewhere, when you are on top of a mountain, it nevertheless feels like you are closer to God.

My mountain spirituality is not unique.  Mountainous areas have been the home of monks for centuries.  Pope Celestine V (the monastic Pope who set the precedent for Pope Benedict XVI's resignation) preferred the mountains of Italy to the city of Rome.

The world's oldest monastery, St. Catherine's, is at the base of Mount Sinai in Egypt.

And, of course, the world's largest grouping of monks is found at the monasteries on Mount Athos in Greece.

So, while I may not have been closer to God in a literal sense on the top of Mount Washburn, perhaps I was closer to God in other ways.  At the top of a mountain, you get an entirely unique perspective on God's creation.  On the one hand, you see how beautiful, intricate, and vast it is.  On the other hand, you see how fragile it is - for example, there are still many areas where the damage done from the 1988 Yellowstone fires are still visibly apparent, 25 years later.

The other sense of closeness to God after an ascent typically comes from the solitude at the top, and I suspect the monks of the mountains have gone there in search of that solitude.  That kind of sheer solitude escaped me on Mount Washburn, as there were other hikers present, but compared to the rest of Yellowstone, which was filled with tourists, there was a sense of being alone with God at times.

So, I hope that as I continue along this path of Benedictine, contemplative spirituality, many more mountain hikes will be in store for me.