The Living Reality of the Cross

I did not intend to take a break from blogging during Lent, but that is what ended up happening.  After Easter, I will be spending more time at Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, where I am being trained to become a spiritual director.  After that, hopefully I will be able to resume blogging on at least a semi-regular basis.

In the meantime, on this Good Friday, it occurs to me how the cross was not a one-time event, buried deep within human history. When 21 Coptic Christians were beheaded this year, the cross was a living reality.  When 147 people were massacred at a college in Kenya this week, the cross was a living reality.  When millions were being exterminated in the 20th century in Germany, Eastern Europe, and Russia, the cross was a living reality.

Perhaps the most profound statement about the living reality of the cross was not from a Christian theologian, but from a Jewish boy who survived the Nazi holocaust.  In his book, Night, Elie Wiesel recounted the following occurrence from his childhood experience in a concentration camp:   

Behind me, I heard the same man asking:
“For God’s sake, where is God?”
And from within me, I heard a voice answer:
“Where is He?  This is where – hanging here from this gallows…”

Direction in a Directionally-Challenged World

Many people express feelings of being "directionally challenged" these days.  Geographically speaking, we have more and more ways than ever to keep us heading in the right direction - Google maps on our phones/ipads/laptops, GPS in our cars, etc.  No Google map or GPS system can tell us where our life is headed, though.  For most of us, anyway, God will not appear to us in a burning bush (like Moses) or in a vision (like Paul) to tell us where to go.  But, that does not mean that God is not with us, accompanying us on our journeys, speaking to us in a still, small voice.        

 

In a few weeks, we will begin the season of Lent.  Our Lenten practices and rituals do not get us closer to God, but help us to become more attuned to the presence of God, who is always with us.  During Lent, many congregations will explore some practices which can help us to sense the presence of God, and in the newly-established Spirituality Network in our Synod, some of us are becoming trained spiritual directors (people who help others pay attention to the presence of God in their life). (As I have written about previously, I am being trained in spiritual direction by Benedictines in Yankton, South Dakota: http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-unconditional-surrender-to.html).

 

However, there will still inevitably be times when we feel God's absence more than God's presence.  In those times, we can pray, and a prayer like this one is particularly appropriate when we are feeling a little (or a lot) directionally challenged in our life:

 

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” (Thomas Merton).  

Longing for God

Last week, I was able to spend approximately 36 hours at New Melleray Abbey, a Trappist monastery just outside of Dubuque, Iowa ( http://benedictinelutheran.blogspot.com/2013/10/is-this-heaven-no-its-iowa.html).  I plan on writing more about the experience in an upcoming article, but in the meantime, I thought I would share what happened to me this morning.

Whenever I return from a retreat like my time at New Melleray, I find myself motivated to pray the daily prayer offices more regularly, set aside more time for contemplative prayer, read more Scripture and devotional writings, etc. Then, after about a week or so, I fall away from that new-found enthusiasm, and those kinds of practices fall by the wayside.  I don't get up early enough in the morning to do those things before work, I'm too busy or tired at night before going to bed - I always come up with a reason for falling away.

This morning, I awoke early enough that I didn't have an excuse, so I dug out "For All the Saints" (Lutheran book of daily prayers and readings) as well as the new Psalter that I picked up at New Melleray - they use the "Grail Psalter", which is a rather beautiful, poetic translation of the Psalms.  After coming back home, when I do pray, I've been trying to follow along with the monks' schedule for praying the Psalms, so that I am still praying with them in a sense, even at a distance of around 300 miles.

This morning, as I picked up the Psalter, it fell open to Psalm 62 (which is normally Psalm 63 in most Bible translations - the Grail Psalter is based on the Greek Septuagint, where many of the Psalms are numbered differently). In this Psalter, the title of the Psalm is called "Longing for God".

That phrase struck me this morning as being significant, but I couldn't figure out why.  I had not looked yet at the New Melleray's schedule of psalms that were to be prayed during Lauds (Morning Prayer) this morning, but I hoped that Psalm 62 was one of them.  But what were the chances of that?  Three Psalms are prayed by the monks during Lauds, and there are 150 Psalms, so if my math was correct, I figured I had a 1-in-50 chance. 

So, when I looked at New Melleray's schedule for praying the Psalms, I was delighted to see that Psalm 62 was on the list for this morning! The first few verses of the Psalm go like this:

O God, you are my God, for you I long;
for you my soul is thirsting,
My body pines for you
like a dry, weary land without water.
So I gaze on you in the sanctuary
to see your strength and your glory.

I think the phrase "Longing for God" seemed significant this morning because in between the times when my prayer life is rejuvenated by such things as going on retreats, I am thirsty -  thirsty for the kind of water that only God can provide.

While life sometimes seems like a continuous wandering in a dry, weary land, longing for God, we are assured by this Psalm that the glory of the Lord is not so far removed from us so as to be out of sight.  At the time this Psalm was written, people went to the sanctuary to see God's strength and glory.  Now, we go to the sacraments - those signs of God's grace and glory which also join us to the cross.  The life-giving waters of  baptism quench our thirst, and the body and blood of Christ nourishes us during our time in the desert.

Until we meet God face-to-face, we struggle with a continuous longing for God, but we can give thanks that we have been given the means of grace to sustain us on our journeys.

  

Feeling Cold? Try "Hygge"

As I am writing this entry, we are in the midst of the coldest spell we have had this winter in the Northern Plains region of the United States - temperatures have dipped below zero Fahrenheit, and the snow has come. Schools across the region have been canceled.

So, how do we northerners cope with these conditions?  Here in America, we don't cope too well, I'm afraid.  But, back in the country of my ancestors, Denmark, they have "hygge" - a cultural concept that does not translate well into English.  As I was reading about hygge, I immediately thought of parallels to Benedictine spirituality.  Benedictines do not rush things - prayer is done deliberately and intentionally.  Each moment of communication with God is savored.  Similarly, hygge is not to be rushed.  Also, hygge embraces both solitude and community, just as Benedictines engage in times of private prayer and meditation, as well as prayer as a community.

Here are some excerpts from an article about hygge, and what it means: 

"Denmark endures dreary winters with the help of an arcane cultural concept known as "hygge." It's not an easy word for outsiders to pronounce — it sounds sort of like HYU-gah — and it's even harder to translate. Hygge apparently has no direct analogue in English, and related words like "coziness," "togetherness" and "well-being" only cover a fraction of its nebulous definition. Still, in hopes of shedding light on Denmark's world-class happiness, here's a closer look at the hazy nature of hygge.

 

Hygge, originally a Norwegian word for "well-being," first appeared in Danish near the end of the 18th century, according to Denmark's tourism bureau. It has evolved into a big part of Danish life since then, absorbing connotations over time like a semantic snowball. The dark winters of Denmark helped turn hygge from a mere word into a kind of cultural panacea, manifested in various ways to buffer Danes against cold, solitude and stress.

 

"In other languages the word for hygge or coziness is more a physical thing, and hygge is more a mental thing," explains Lotte Hansen, a library science student from Aalborg, Denmark, who's interning at the Museum of Danish America in Elk Horn, Iowa. "It's like a feeling, and it's big at Christmastime. The candles, the food, being with your family."

 

"It's not only Christmas, though," she adds, noting hygge is a pervasive, year-round spirit. "It's like a mood you have. We can see hygge in many things, in many situations."

 

This flexibility of hygge is a major reason why English words like "cozy" don't do it justice. "Coziness relates to physical surroundings — a jersey can be cozy, or a warm bed — whereas hygge has more to do with people's behavior toward each other," writes author Helen Dyrbye in "Xenophobe's Guide to the Danes." "It is the art of creating intimacy: a sense of comradeship, conviviality and contentment rolled into one."

 

Danes don't have a monopoly on these concepts, but they do take pride in their holistic way of looking at them. It's not unlike the American idea of thankfulness around Thanksgiving and Christmas, which refers to a general sense of gratitude as well as the implied presence of family, festivity and homemade food. Yet while holiday cheer doesn't last all year for many Americans — despite its potential health benefits — hygge has become embedded in the Danish consciousness. 

 

"My feeling is that American life is so rushed that we often forget about doing things and creating these events of hygge," says Michele McNabb, librarian for the Museum of Danish America. "Americans vary so much in their family connections and friend networks, but you have to slow down for it. Hygge is not something you can do in a rush."

 

The word is useful as a noun or a verb, McNabb adds — "you can hygge by curling up on the sofa with a good book" — and as an adjective by converting it to "hyggeligt" (HYU-gah-lee). It generally has a social component, but there are wide-ranging interpretations across Denmark, allowing it to describe anything from a person or a building to an abstract ambience or sentiment. And for Danes who travel or move to America, the lack of a clear English translation can feel linguistically limiting.

 

"It's often connected to some social thing, but also a house can be hyggeligt, or different places can be hyggeligt," says Hansen, who came to the U.S. from Denmark just a few months ago. "We use it really often. When I came over here, I had to take a moment to think, 'What word can I use to describe this when I can't use hygge?'"

 

"I think it should be universally adapted," McNabb says. "I'm sure in other cultures there are some things that are similar. I just think the busier our lives get and the more on-call we are 24/7, there's a tendency to overdo things and be overstressed. The concept of carving time out for simple things is very important."

Read more: http://www.mnn.com/family/family-activities/blogs/how-hygge-can-help-you-get-through-winter#ixzz3O9fw0OUH

 

 

Santa Lucia

I often lament that Lutherans and members of other churches that arose at the time of the Reformation have forgotten some of the traditions that help us to remember the saints who have gone before us.  Among some Lutheran churches, though, today is an exception to that trend, as traditions associated with the feast of Santa Lucia (St. Lucy) remain popular among many Lutherans, particularly in Scandinavia, as well as here in America among churches of Swedish descent.

According to the tradition, Lucia (whose name means "light") was martyred in Sicily around 310 A.D., during one of the last major periods of Christian persecution before Constantine became emperor and legalized Christianity a few years later.  Several centuries later, when Christianity spread to Northern Europe, her story and name took on special meaning there, because she represents light during the darkest time of year, around the winter solstice.  

To this day in Scandinavia, she is remembered on her feast day through festivals where a person - oftentimes a young girl - will be dressed in a white dress and red sash with a crown or wreath of candles on her head. The person representing Lucia will sometimes also carry rolls and cookies in procession as songs are sung.  

As I have written about before, the number of people who still attend worship in Scandinavia has dwindled drastically in recent decades.  But, there are still signs of light in the darkness, and the continued celebration of Santa Lucia is one of them.  Here is a video of a beautiful rendition of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" sung at the Lutheran Cathedral in Stockholm, where you can see some of the traditions associated with the Santa Lucia festival.

 

Luther on Monasticism

Anyone who is familiar with the writings of Martin Luther knows that he did not hide his disdain for the monastic lifestyle from which he came.  Many people take that criticism to mean that Luther was advocating for the complete removal of monasticism from Christianity.  A careful reading of Luther does not support that conclusion, though.  For, in the midst of his vitriolic writings directed against the medieval monastic institutions, you can find quotes like these:

"And so, if you vow to take up the religious life, and if you live with men of like mind, with a clear conscience that in monasticism you seek nothing to your advantage in your relationship with God, but because either your situation has brought you to embrace this kind of life, or it appeared to be the best way of life for you, without your thinking thereby that you are better than he who takes a wife or takes up farming, then in that case you are neither wrong to take vows nor wrong to live in this way, insofar as the propriety of the vow is concerned." (From "Judgment of Martin Luther on Monastic Vows", written in 1521, and found in Luther's Works, Vol. 44, page 304).

In that same writing, Luther had nothing but praise for St. Anthony, the founder of monasticism:

"St. Anthony, the very father of monks and the founder of monastic life, most wisely and in a Christian manner believed and taught that absolutely nothing should be observed which did not have the authority of Scripture. He knew absolutely nothing about monastic vows and ceremonial of this kind, but willingly chose to live as a hermit, and of his own will chose to live unmarried, after the pattern of the gospel.  Pursuing human wisdom, his successors made this way of life into a vow, into a matter of obligation and compulsion.  This way of life is but a specious copy and a mistaken observance of the rule of Anthony, which is the rule of Christ." (Luther's Works, Vol. 44, p. 253).


These passages make it apparent that Luther did not seek to destroy monasticism, but to reform it, and to have it return to its roots according to the way of the early monastics. His criticisms were not directed at the very existence of monasticism, but at the system of vows that had developed, and at the medieval notion that monasticism was a superior form of life compared to other vocations, such as family life and other forms of labor.

Unfortunately, churches that are the heirs of the Reformation have largely forgotten that the rule of St. Anthony is the rule of Christ.  But, as I have noted elsewhere, the seeds are being sown for a new form of monasticism, based on the Gospel and the ancient forms of monasticism.  It is my belief that this new/old form of monasticism  will play a crucial role in the promulgation of the faith in our increasingly secular, post-Christendom context.    

Listening - An Unconditional Surrender to Abba

For those of you who have regularly followed my blog over the past year and a half, you might have noticed that I haven't posted as much during the last month.  Part of my blogging silence is due to lots of work commitments going on, and part of it is due to the kids being back in school, and the activities that go along with that season of the year.  Another reason is that beginning last month, I began a two year program to be trained in spiritual direction.  Portions of the class are taught at the beautiful Benedictine Peace Center, located at Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, South Dakota, and the balance is online.  So, there has been a lot of other reading and writing on my plate during the last month.

Last week, one of the assigned readings dealt with listening.  In the midst of the "busy-ness" of my fall season, these words resonated with my deep-seated need to slow down, so that I can be aware of God's presence and voice in my life:

"Listening is that attitude of the heart whereby that which is deepest and most mysterious in us remains in loving attentiveness to that which is deepest and most mysterious in God.  By listening, we abide in the simplicity of being in love with our God. We remain loving our Beloved, with our whole heart, soul, mind, and strength (Matthew 22:37) irrespective of words, thoughts and specific actions.

Listening is unconditional surrender to Abba.  Listening is a giving of our deepest to him whose depth has no end.  Thus, it is an act of abandonment in faith, hope, and love, a wordless, imageless, loving surrender of our whole being to God.

Listening is waiting upon God in watchful expectancy.  Not that we wait for or expect some-thing. Rather we wait for some-One: God himself."

(From "The Way of Spiritual Direction" by Francis Kelly Nemeck and Marie Theresa Coombs, pp. 62-63).