Christmas 1 B - Dec 28, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Borden, OHC

Christmas 1 B, Sunday, December 28, 2014

Isaiah 61:10-62:3 
Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7 
John 1:1-18 

Mouse, Br. Scott's cat

I had a pretty clear idea what I wanted to say in a sermon this Sunday – until just a few days ago... And then something else presented itself to me causing me to think – now there is a good idea for a sermon... but I already knew what I wanted to say... So I've decided to do the thing you are never supposed to do... I will preach both sermons. I'm sure that is a good idea... Don't worry – both sermons will be short.

The idea that presented itself to me just a few days ago was in the form of a cat. A cat named Mouse to be specific. Mouse has been a monastery cat for several months now. She spent the first several years of her life as a Rectory cat, so this is a new job for her. And she takes her work very seriously.

She is a social sort of kitty and feels a need to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the second floor of the enclosure. She tends to lurk outside the bathrooms, which would be creepy if she were not a cat... and she likes to lead folks on walks and hold rather loud conversations. But for all of that friendliness, she has not really been very affectionate.

Then on the morning of Christmas eve, she decided it was time to sit in my lap. This was really a first. And she sat quite happily for more than 20 minutes... I was, to say the least, please and honored. Cat affection, when offered, is always sincere, because a cat really can't be bothered to try to butter you up.

So as Mouse sat in my lap, letting me rub her face and purring quietly, I thought to myself – what a lovely Christmas gift... And that is the sermon that threw itself at me... It is a lovely gift. And all she had to do was simply show up and be present. It made me extremely happy and joyful.

I am quite convinced that cats (and I suppose I have to admit other animals as well) teach us a great deal about God. Cats, for example, teach us about unconditional love, not because they offer it, but because they accept it. What I realized, as Mouse sat quietly in my lap for those wonderful 20 minutes, is that the joy I felt is, perhaps, a reflection of what God feels when we show up and are present.

I think of those shepherds who showed up and were present at the manger... and I think of those disciples the garden at Gethsemane who couldn't stay awake – couldn't be present. Showing up and being present – a gift we dare not underestimate. That is the first sermon...

Now the second sermon... the one I first wanted to preach... started with with something else that caught my attention. I saw a posting from a religious organization of some sort or other that boldly proclaimed that “Jesus is the very best present of all...” illustrated with a picture of a lovely bright red box wrapped with ribbon and bow... and my reaction was different than my reaction to mouse...

This message just seems wrong in so many ways... It reduces Jesus to some sort of gift-wrapped notion stuck under the tree by God's little helper – Santa... It reduces the Word that becomes flesh and dwells among us to something that fits in a box – albeit a very nice box. That is a small Jesus indeed. Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords... but Present of presents... not so much.

I have become increasing fascinated by the dual nature of Christmas... there is Sacred Christmas, built around the mystery of Jesus. And then there is secular Christmas – built around an orgy of shopping. Secular Christmas needs to blur the lines between the two – so that it can rub some of the beauty and wonder of the Sacred on itself.

Christmas trees and manger scenes intermingle with candy canes and mistletoe and reindeer and gingerbread houses and toy soldiers... Figuring out what, if anything, these might have to do with the Word made flesh is, shall we say, difficult...

Perhaps it is a good that secular Christmas seeks to rub against the sacred. Secular Christmas is not an evil thing – its just shallow. Even the most secular of people can be touched by Christmas – they can, even if they hardly know it, be touched by the Word.

But I'm not done disparaging the Jesus as present concept. I've saved the worst for last... Secular Christmas teaches us absolutely that we are entitled to presents that we want and that make us happy.

Some presents will fall into that politely named category of “unfortunate.” Many retailers assure us that we can give the perfect gift, because the recipient can return the “unfortunate” gift, no questions asked, for something they actually want... Secular Christmas has succeeded when I get just exactly what I want...

Jesus is many things, but Jesus, to be honest, is not just exactly what I, or any of us, really want. Jesus challenges us, questions us, makes us uncomfortable.
The disappointment with Jesus is quite clear in his lifetime. It leads to crucifixion...

Many of the faithful of Jesus' time wanted a powerful savior, a super hero if you will, who would come and crush the Romans. They didn't get what they wanted. According to the rules of Secular Christmas, they will have to get in line to see customer service for an exchange...

Many of us have ideas about who or what we would like Jesus to be. There is the blond-haired, blue-eyed Jesus who is sweet and nice all the time – gift exchange... There is Jesus who loves me so very much that he wants me to be extremely rich – gift exchange... The Jesus who causes my favorite sports team to win... The Jesus who tramples my enemies under his feet... The Jesus who cures cancer... The Jesus who feeds the hungry so I don't have to... When it comes to Jesus as present, I'm afraid we all have something to take to the customer service window... We're all in line for the gift exchange.

The Word does not become flesh to make us happy. Jesus doesn't seek to make us over into better versions of ourselves – Jesus comes to make us new... Encountering the Word made flesh transforms us, and not necessarily in the ways we want.

But if Jesus in just the greatest present of all, than we don't have the Word made flesh – we have flesh made into word. We are making God over into what we want, rather than being transformed by our encounter with God.

So that is the second sermon – the one I first wanted to preach... and Mouse gracing my lap with her presence you may recall was the first, which threw itself in front of me second...

But they aren't, really, two separate sermons... I hope you don't feel suddenly cheated.

All creatures on earth – and above the earth and in the oceans and beneath the earth – all creatures are part of creation and, undeniably an expression of their creator. I think Luke, in his telling of Jesus birth, underscores this by the presence of the animals. This is their creator. This is their manger. The Word is made flesh and dwells among them too. All things come into being through the Word of God.

Mouse can teach me about God because she is an expression of God's holy Word. Don't tell her that... she already believes she is queen of her universe.
Secular Christmas is part of Christmas – it may be the part that is most in need of redemption – but that is why Word becomes flesh. God doesn't come to visit because we are just irresistible and always fun to be around... God dwells among us because we need to be touched by God... because we need redemption.

Emanuel, God with us, the Word made flesh makes us whole. Secular Christmas has only happiness to offer – which is simpler and can fit under the tree...

But the real gift is that we show up and are present just as Mouse did a few mornings ago... We show up with those who are hungry, with those who are being treated unjustly, with those who are sorrowful, or unpleasant, or powerless... in this way we encounter Jesus, the Word made flesh. And so we are transformed.

Christmas Eve - Dec 24, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Peter Rostron, OHC

Christmas 1 B, Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Isaiah 9:2-7 
Titus 2:11-14 
Luke 2:1-14(15-20) 

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God

Well, our wait is over. Christmas is here. This is indeed a joyous day and season, and it has me thinking back to my Christmas holidays as a child. The season of Advent, as I remember it, took a distant second place compared to “the big day,” and what I was waiting for then is quite different than what I wait for now as an adult and as a monk. Back then, the main business of Advent was making sure my list of gifts was complete so that Santa Claus, and later my parents, would know what to leave for me under the tree. There was the anticipation of a vacation from school and perhaps some snow to go along with it. There was a tree to buy, and there were decorations to put up. There were Christmas songs playing on the radio, holiday performances at school, houses covered in lights, and, of course, the big holiday television programs: Frosty the Snowman, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. And movies like Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, and It’s a Wonderful Life.

Today, as my Christian faith has matured and as I move further along in my monastic vocation, my experience of Advent and Christmas is quite different than it was then. It is quieter and simpler and it is about the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ rather than about getting and giving all the right gifts. And I’ve been pondering how these two different versions of Christmas might be related to one another. How do my childhood past and my adult present mesh as experiences of the same event? And what might that say about this event of Christmas? 

A useful approach, I thought, might be to look at the stories that belong to each of them. Consider those old TV shows and movies, which are still remarkably popular today. They certainly do not seem to have much to do with the birth of Jesus, yet they genuinely resonate with people at this time of year, and they do seem to offer some of what Jesus represents: forgiveness, repentance, love, generosity, charity, even eternal life. Frosty melts away but lives on in the children’s hearts. The Grinch has a complete change of heart and becomes a loving and generous figure. George Bailey is pulled from the depths of despair to a renewed love of life by his guardian angel, Clarence. Even now, I still think of these stories fondly. They may not be biblical, but they do sit well as companions to a celebration of Christ’s life because of the truths that they speak.

And that is the essence and the function of a story: to speak truth to us, to tell us something about our condition, about our lives, about our hopes and fears and loves. And this is true for works of fiction or nonfiction, for books or movies, and regardless of whether or not they present actual events or accurate facts. Today’s gospel reading was a story of Jesus’s birth told by Luke. There is a different story in the gospel of Matthew. And even though these two stories are different in fact and detail, both speak the truth, of the miraculous birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Of an angel reassuring someone to not be afraid and giving them a path or a course of action to follow. Of people going on a journey in search of safety or new life. Of a child being born who is the Messiah. It’s not really important if this child was born in a barn or in a room in a house, nor whether it was shepherds or wise men or kings who came to greet him and to proclaim him. Whatever the details, the one truth that we are remembering and reliving tonight, the birth of the Messiah, comes to life in Matthew’s and Luke’s gospels. By immersing ourselves in these stories, we bring an event from 2000 years ago into the present. We experience some of the joy, amazement, hope, and love of that moment when Joseph and Mary welcomed their newborn son, the son of God.

And in doing so, this story of Jesus’s birth becomes part of our own story, our own truth. For stories do not exist just on paper or on film or, now, stored in digital files. They are being acted out all around us, and we soak them up. They play an integral role in how we see ourselves and how we make decisions. Consciously or not, we visualize ourselves in stories, we identify with characters, and our own decisions and behavior are inspired by the events in stories - in books we read, in TV shows and movies we watch, even in the gossip we hear and the video games we play and the sporting events we attend. We are immersed in stories, we absorb elements of them, and we are shaped by them as we write the stories of our own lives. 

The birth of Jesus is the foundational story for us as Christians: God in human form. It is the essence of our faith that we are the body of Christ, that Jesus exists within each of us. I believe that when we celebrate and relive the birth of Christ at Christmas we are, in part, celebrating and reliving our own birth. And our own birth was and is part of God’s greater act of creation that is still ongoing. This is a living story, and it includes us. The universe is still expanding, and God is still creating, creating new life and new ideas and new ways of being. We are his agents in the world. You know that intense feeling of joy that one can experience in the presence of a newborn baby. That is a reflection, I believe, of a deep-seated awareness that we are each still in the process of being born, or perhaps you might say re-born, and Jesus with us. We desire and are capable of feeling the same freshness and sense of infinite possibility that sits at the beginning of a newborn’s life. Unlike a baby, of course, we are not innocent. We have a lifetime of accumulated hurts and disappointments and regrets and sins. As we stand in the presence of the newborn baby Jesus at Christmas, we are reminded of our intimate connection with God, of the joy of new life within us, of God’s creation within us. Jesus’s story is our story. Jesus’s birth is our birth.

That is the magic of Christmas. This baby, Jesus, was a great gift to us from God, a gift that is God, given by our creator as the most concrete expression of love imaginable or possible. It was given in the form of a man with the hope that through his life as God incarnate we might be freed from sin and shown the way to eternal life. The only way for us to make sense of and record and share such an amazing act is through the telling of a story. And this story of Jesus’s birth, whether it is Matthew’s or Luke’s or some combination thereof, is a story for and about and of us. And even those other Christmas stories - the ones told by cartoon specials and old black and white movies, the story of Santa Claus, and even our modern, misguided story of a consumerist frenzy of shopping and gift-giving - can be traced back to the same, single truth: the truth of God’s boundless love for us. The truth that was fully revealed to us in the birth of the baby Jesus: the ultimate gift, the ultimate story, a story worthy of being told and lived over and over again, forever. Merry Christmas!

Advent 2 B - Dec 7, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

Advent 2 B, Sunday, December 7, 2014

Isaiah 40:1-11

2 Peter 3:8-15a

Mark 1:1-8

John the Baptist preaching

The Gospel last Sunday was focused on the future return of Christ. Things could not get any more cosmic; everyone “from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven” will see the coming and be shaken. Advent starts off with a big, collective, cosmic bang about what awaits the world.

Today as we continue the Advent journey we shift from future hope backwards in time to promise fulfilled. John the Baptist, the bridge figure between the prophets of the Old Testament and the preparation for Messiah breaks the 400 years of prophetic silence that preceded him with a different kind of bang, crying "prepare" "repent" "accept God’s forgiveness". The essential message and call in both Gospels is the same; Jesus is coming, so wake up and be about conversion, reconciliation, and peace – get ready. But the means John uses to receive and express this preparation is, especially in this time and culture, surprising and unsettling.

John's invitation is not merely for a change of mind. He knows we are not disembodied intellects, but flesh and blood people. A physical sign, baptism in the Jordan, is the public witness of the inner change of heart. John is calling the people to faith expressed in action and action that nurtures faith. For the writer of the Gospel and for John, the spiritual meaning and the physical act must go together -

sins are forgiven because of baptism in water and baptism in water is a sign that sins are forgiven. I remember attending confirmation classes at St. James’ Episcopal Church in 1993 and learning about emergency baptism. Any baptized Christian can baptize anyone if there is a danger that the unbaptized is near death. Two things must be present: the name of the Trinity and water. The priest said, "If there is no water around, use your spit, but there has to be some matter."

A harmonious relationship between the physical and the spiritual is the basis for spiritual maturity. As I work with retreat groups and directees, I am more and more aware of the danger in our culture of a dis-embodied, individualistic spirituality. It shows up in the belief that “spiritual” is contained within the safe external confines of doctrine, information, church, and within me only as it reinforces my personal positions. This and this alone is what God cares about. The rest is left up to me and me alone to figure out, possess, and manage. Whatever that theology is, it is not the good news. Individualistic relativism splits me from you and splits my beliefs from objective reality. The power of John the Baptist calling Israel into repentance and into the water is to show us that the coming of the Gospel is not to our individual heads - the Gospel brings harmony between the spiritual and the physical, between the individual and the community.

Because we are so information and analysis-driven, this is very weird to us.

If we lived in John's time and heard him, we might be tempted to analyze and question: What does repentance mean? What are the costs and benefits of a new way of life? Can I have some kind of assurance that I won't suffer or be mistreated? Will I be safe and secure? Do you have a website? We stand forever at the shore, thinking about the how’s and what ifs rather than getting in the water. What story after story in the gospel declares is that faith exists in those who act without ever knowing the outcome of their faith other than God is and will be with them. And that is why the gospel springs from the muddy water of the Jordan and not the Temple or the religious elite – as an indictment on those with the so-called answers and power and control. The Gospel begins with a different way to see the world, one that smashes false categories like “spiritual” and “ordinary”, “God’s” and “mine”. John is the image of the harmonized man – the only category is the divine.

Our temptation to rarely to cruelty or crime, it is more often the allure to be selectively virtuous, cautious; moving in and out of awareness, proclaiming ourselves good enough, and content to stand safely on the riverbank of spiritual growth. I’ll be spiritual on my own terms, thank you very much. Repentance, then, is the restructuring of my perception so that I may act in the reality of the sacredness of the whole world, not what I decide is sacred. It is the willingness to see in the waters of the Jordan River or the crowded aisle of the grocery store or in the desperate stare of a friend a sign; an invitation to depend on God's help, receive it, and share it.

St. Benedict picks up this theme in the Rule. All of the monk's life is oriented around being present to God's presence; therefore all of life is ritual sign, the harmony of physical and spiritual. In the chapter on the cellarer, the brother in charge of the tools and supplies, he writes, "he will regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected." Benedict is the image of the harmonized man – nothing is ordinary, everything is pulsating with the divine. Benedict has been liberated from the illusion that there is such a thing as ordinary, such a thing as “my terms”. His heart was awakened and he saw truly.

As is true in any healthy monastic community, as you have seen this weekend, our life here is infused with all kinds of ritual signs, but it is in our liturgy that the physical and spiritual most dramatically come together. Liturgy is about the celebration of the God-designed harmony between matter and spirit. Liturgy brings our divided perception back into reality after we have drifted off into selfish individualism. We enter the church past bowls of holy water, we see icons, candles, smell incense, we bow, we sit silently, stand, sing or recite psalms, listen - all with the intention of being prayerfully aware of God's presence, listening for God's voice. We don't absolutely need the symbols in this church or the gymnastics of our particular form of prayer in order to connect to God. But we do all of this for a reason. We are not just thinking about or interiorly processing the liturgy, we are acting it out as well. We practice regarding ourselves, our brothers and guests, and God’s creation as sacred. We use body, mind, and spirit in worship because they are meant for worship. We are recognizing the connection between the spiritual and the physical. We are acting ourselves into a new way of being, getting down into the Jordan River of commitment and community and manifesting through the material what is happening inside.

These various ritual signs and acts carry us along, especially when we stand thinking at the shore, as I often find myself. On those days when my faith is not very strong, when I don't feel like it, or am wondering through my own personal desert - I show up anyway. Even before I enter this church I dip my finger in the holy water and make the sign of the cross and say to myself "I am a baptized member of the Body of Christ, I am a new creation, I am loved and accepted by God, I resolve, with God's help, to live out my place in the Body and in this community with humility, obedience, love, and joy..." With God’s help I don't wait until I understand what it means, until I know what will happen, until I feel like it. I don't say "this is not working for me". I don’t demand God on my terms. I ask God to take me once again to the river, to the place of repentance, forgiveness, and community - of getting wet with the Gospel. I trust the water to do its work. I act in the faith that beyond my struggles, my feelings, my desire to just fall asleep, is love offering his hand, welcoming me, always welcoming - all of me, and eventually I am awakened and brought to myself and reminded that I am forgiven and accepted and that all will be well even if I don't know how or when.

The water, the sacredness that dwells within it and that works on you and me, has done what I could not do for myself. The promise of Baptism past is in that moment made present and its future fulfillment, its hope becomes my hope. Heaven and earth, flesh and spirit touch each other. There is no more ordinary. The world is full of the sacred vessels of the altar. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.