What is Faith? (Monday Morning in the Desert)

Lutherans sure do make a big deal about faith.  After all, wasn't one of the rallying cries of the Reformation known as sola fide, "faith alone"? The problem, is, do we really know how to answer the question of what the word "faith" means? 

I'm sure that some Lutheran seminary professors would probably fail me if I gave this answer to the question of "what is faith", but I kind of like it anyway:
 
"A brother questioned Abba Poemen saying, 'Give me a word.' And he said to him, 'The fathers put compunction as the beginning of every action.' The brother said again, 'Give me another word.' The old man replied, 'As far as you can, do some manual work so as to be able to give alms, for it is written that alms and faith purify from sin.' The brother said, 'What is faith?' The old man said, 'Faith is to live humbly and to give alms.'" 

(From p. 115 of "Oasis of Wisdom: The Worlds of the Desert Fathers and Mothers" by David Keller).

A friend of mine who follows this blog likes to remind us Lutherans about the question posed at Luke 10:29 - "Who is my neighbor?" That question, of course, was asked by the lawyer who wanted to justify himself before Jesus (as a I lawyer, I admit that I sometimes resemble that remark).  In response to the lawyer's question, Jesus did not give the lawyer a systematic theological analysis - he told him the parable of the Good Samaritan.

So, that is why I like Abba Poemen's answer to the question of "what is faith?" Like Jesus, he didn't give a detailed theological explanation; just a few words which suggest that faith is intertwined with doing what Christ calls us to do - to live humbly and to give alms.

St. Benedict on Sharing Our Burdens

Spring seems to be an unusually busy time of year in many professions and vocations.  Farmers are preparing to plant in the fields.  Teachers are in the middle of the spring semester, administering tests and grading papers.  People who work in the financial sector are in the middle of tax season, as the April 15th deadline looms.  And, during Lent and Holy Week, clergy are overloaded with extra services and other responsibilities when compared to the rest of the year.  However, we shouldn't have to do it all alone.

1,500 years ago, St. Benedict recognized how dangerous it is to put too much of a burden on one person.  So, he wrote about how abbots of monasteries should share their burdens with people who can be trusted:

"The kind of people with whom the abbot can confidently share his burden should be chosen deans.  They should not be chosen for their rank, but for the merit of their lives and the wisdom of their teaching." (Rule of St. Benedict, 21:3-4).

In a commentary on this passage from the Rule, Terrence Kardong wrote:

"Even if the community is small and the workload is not heavy, it is not good for a religious superior to be alone. One of the occupational dangers of that position is isolation from the body of the group.  This can create a gap of understanding and even generate unwarranted suspicion on all sides.  Sharing the burden of office does not just mean delegation.  It also includes the opportunity for mutual support of a fairly intimate kind.  Benedict's deans are not mere functionaries.  They are people of real wisdom, capable of genuine spiritual leadership. This means that the Benedictine monastery is not a "one-man-show", where a guru is surrounded by disciples. Authority here is shared as broadly as possible, and spiritual leadership is constantly being fostered in many persons."  (From p. 54 of "Day By Day With Saint Benedict" by Terrence Kardong, O.S.B.).

The wisdom of St. Benedict does not just apply to the inner workings of monasteries, of course.  It applies to any religious community, parish, or congregation. Indeed, it also applies to organizations and businesses in the secular world - it is not good for leaders and professionals to do everything by themselves, alone and without help.

So, this Spring, don't carry your burdens all by yourself.  Allow others to share the workload with you.  Seek out those who seem to be bogged down with too much work, and offer to help.  As St. Paul wrote, we are called to "bear one another's burdens." (Galatians 6:2).

Monday Morning in the Desert

After a great experience last week at Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, South Dakota, it is back to the  grind for me.  Hopefully, I will be able to bring at least some of my experience in the figurative desert of the monastic setting into daily life.

While in the midst of a quiet setting, I had a chance to reflect on the damage that our words and deeds can do to others, so this morning's quote is on that subject:

"A brother asked Poemen about the words, 'Do not render evil for evil' (1 Thess. 5:15).  He said to him, 'The passions work in four stages: first in the heart, then in the face, third in words, fourth in deeds - and it is in deeds that is is essential not to render evil for evil.  If you purify your heart, passion will not show in your expression, but if it does, take care not to speak about it; if you do speak, cut the conversation short in case you render evil for evil.'"

(From p. 192 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks", translated by Benedicta Ward).

This past week, I've also had the chance to listen to a series of talks at a Lenten retreat by Father John Behr of St. Vladimir's Seminary - he includes a lot of good quotes and observations from the Desert Fathers.  You can listen to the talks (about 15-20 minutes per podcast), entitled "The Call of God", at Ancient Faith Radio:

http://www.ancientfaith.com/podcasts/svsvoices/the_call_of_god_part_1

http://www.ancientfaith.com/podcasts/svsvoices/the_call_of_god_part_2

http://www.ancientfaith.com/podcasts/svsvoices/the_call_of_god_part_3

Monday Morning in the Desert

This morning, I'm not going to post a quote from a Desert Father or Mother, but will simply note that right now, I am immersed in the "desert" - not a literal desert wilderness, but a figurative "desert", in the form of the stillness of a monastery.  So, I'll be taking a break, and will check in again a few days from now.

And, in case you're wondering where I am, I am at the Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, South Dakota - right above the beautiful Missouri River.

A Lutheran Among the Carmelites

In a secluded corner of Sioux City, Iowa, there is a little taste of heaven that most local residents don't know about.

I've lived here for almost 19 years, and until recently, I knew very little about the Carmelite monastery found on a dead-end street in the midst of the Loess Hills that Sioux City is built upon.  To learn a little bit more about Sioux City's only monastery, I decided to go there on a Sunday afternoon for Vespers a few weeks ago.

While driving to the monastery, it struck me how isolated it is.  Sioux City isn't exactly a big city according to the standards of the rest of the world, but with over 100,000 in the metropolitan area, it is relatively large compared to other cities of the Upper Midwest.  The Carmelites, though, found a place within the city where it feels like you are alone amongst the hills and trees.

Founded in 1962, the Carmelites recently celebrated the 50th anniversary of the beginning of their monastery in Sioux City.  As a contemplative order, their primary vocation is to pray for the community and for the world within the silence of their cloister.

Through the spiritual practices I have tried to adopt, I thought I was getting used to silence.  But, upon entering the chapel of the monastery, I still found the absolute silence of the cloister to be beyond anything I have experienced before.

 The silence was broken by the prayers of the nuns, who softly spoke the words of the rosary.  After completing that devotion, Vespers began.  With a little help from one of the other guests who came to pray with the nuns, I was able to follow along with the order of the service, since the Carmelites follow the traditional order of Vespers according to the Western Church, and the Lutheran order for Vespers largely follows that order.  Even the hymns sung that evening were familiar.


After the service, I had the opportunity to briefly speak with Mother Joseph, the prioress of the order.  Her words, and the calm inflection of her voice, reflected the peaceful environment of the place. She invited me to return, and I intend to return to this hidden gem to share in what the Carmelites have to offer - a chance to experience what the Psalmist wrote about in Psalm 46:10 - "Be still, and know that I am God".

A Prayer in the Darkness

In these early days of Lent, Spring is almost here, but for a few more days, there is still more darkness than light.

There are glimmers of hope in the world around us, but much of the world remains mired in despair.

We are called to trust that the light of Christ shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it, but when our humanity gets in the way and we cannot see the light, our trust is shaken.

In the midst of these times, the following prayer of St. Symeon the New Theologian (949 - 1022 A.D.) reminds us that the light of Christ is still there, illuminating our darkness:

I thank you that you, even while I was sitting in 

darkness,

revealed yourself to me, you enlightened me,

you granted me to see the light of your countenance

that is unbearable to all.

I remained seated in the middle of the darkness,

I know,

but, while I was there surrounded by darkness, 

you appeared as light, illuminating me

completely from your total light.

And I became light in the night,

I who was found in the midst of darkness.

Neither the darkness extinguished your light

completely,

nor did the light dissipate the visible darkness,

but they were together, yet completely separate,

without confusion, far from each other,

surely not at all mixed,

except in the same spot where they filled everything,

so it seems to me.

So I am in the light, yet I am found in the middle 

of the darkness.

So I am in the darkness, yet still I am in the 

middle of the light. 

(From pp. 187-188 of "Prayer of the Heart: The Contemplative Tradition of the Christian East" by George Maloney, S.J.).

A Daily Cross (Monday Morning in the Desert)

St. Isaac the Syrian once said that the "way of God is a daily cross."  Centuries later, Luther echoed this sentiment by proclaiming that the life of the baptized involves a daily drowning and dying in our sin, followed by a daily rising to new life. If you are like me, I'd like to skip that daily dying part, and go right to the daily rising to new life part.

Even though we can't skip the daily dying part, we still question why we are called to endure a daily cross, and this question is perhaps prominent in our minds during the season of Lent. Since this post is a part of my "Monday Morning in the Desert" series, you might have already figured out that I think that the Desert Fathers offer us some guidance on the meaning of the daily cross for us. 

Diadochus was the Bishop of Photice, and a disciple of the legendary Desert Father, Evagrius of Pontus.  Diadochus wrote the following words about the point of the daily cross:

"In the same way as a wax, unless heated and softened for long, cannot take the seal impressed upon it, even so man, unless tried with toils and weaknesses, cannot take in the seal of God's power.  This is why the Lord says to St. Paul: 'My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is made perfect in weakness' (2 Corinthians 12:9)".  (quoted at pp. 158-159 of "Prayer of the Heart: The Contemplative Tradition of the Christian East" by George Maloney, S.J.).

As applied to this season of Lent, if we think our Lenten disciplines make us superior Christians, then we do not have a daily cross, but a daily self-help regimen which makes us think that we have earned something.  The daily cross does not earn us anything.  Instead, the daily cross helps us to see "the futility of our own efforts through fear and attentiveness to our own impotence, (leading us to) cry out in complete trust to God to become the Savior. St. Isaac the Syrian links up such humility and spiritual poverty with true prayer - 'The man who has learnt the need of God's help, prays much.'" (from p. 159 of "Prayer of the Heart").

A Lenten Exercise (Literally!)

If you are like me, prayer is primarily a mental activity, and not a physical discipline. That was not the case for Christians of the Early Church, as the Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem the Syrian (306 - 373 A.D.) indicates: 

O Lord and Master of my life, keep from me the spirit of indifference and discouragement, lust of power and idle chatter. [prostration]

Instead, grant to me, Your servant, the spirit of wholeness of being, humble-mindedness, patience, and love. [prostration]

O Lord and King, grant me the grace to be aware of my sins and not to judge my brother; for You are blessed now and ever and forever. Amen. [prostration]

 (The image is from http://morespaciousthantheheavens.blogspot.com/2010/06/prostrations-on-sunday.html)


Eastern Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann wrote a commentary on St. Ephrem's prayer, which concluded with these words on the importance of using our bodies, and not just our words, when we pray:

"After each petition of the prayer we make a prostration. Prostrations are not limited to the Prayer of St. Ephrem but constitute one of the distinctive characteristics of the entire lenten worship. Here, however, their meaning is disclosed best of all. In the long and difficult effort of spiritual recovery, the Church does not separate the soul from the body. The whole man has fallen away from God; the whole man is to be restored, the whole man is to return. The catastrophe of sin lies precisely in the victory of the flesh -- the animal, the irrational, the lust in us -- over the spiritual and the divine. But the body is glorious; the body is holy, so holy that God Himself "became flesh." Salvation and repentance then are not contempt for the body or neglect of it, but restoration of the body to its real function as the expression and the life of spirit, as the temple of the priceless human soul. Christian asceticism is a fight, not against but for the body. For this reason, the whole man - soul and body  - repents. The body participates in the prayer of the soul just as the soul prays through and in the body. Prostrations, the "psycho-somatic" sign of repentance and humility, of adoration and obedience, are thus the lenten rite par excellence."

(You can read all of Father Schmemann's reflection on St. Ephrem's prayer at: http://www.sv-luka.org/misionar/lentenpr_n2.htm)

I don't expect to overcome my reserved nature and do full-fledged prostrations all throughout Lent like Christians from the East do. Hopefully, though, my Lenten prayer discipline this year will include more of what is comfortable to me (and most Western Christians) during prayer - kneeling, making the sign of the cross, and lifting up my hands.  And who knows - maybe the Holy Spirit will knock me over into doing a prostration or two.     

Stability (Monday Morning in the Desert)

I often fall into the temptation of wishing that I were somewhere else.  As they say, "the grass is always greener on the other side."  I know better than to fall into that kind of wishful thinking, but I do it anyway.

St. Benedict also knew better, which is why one of the vows that Benedictine monks make is the vow of stability. Before St. Benedict, the Desert Fathers also taught the importance of stability:

"A hermit said, 'A tree cannot bear fruit if it is often transplanted.  So it is with the monk."

"It used to be said that if you were tempted where you were living, you should not leave the place at the time of temptation.  If you did leave it then, you would find that the temptation that you were fleeing would go with you to the next place. You should be patient till temptation is over, then you could leave without upsetting anyone or troubling others who lived there."

(From pp. 71-72 of "The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks", translated by Benedict Ward).