The Feast of James Otis Sargent Huntington

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC

Fr. James Otis Sargent Huntington– Friday, November 25 2016

James Otis Sargent Huntington was not the first Superior of the Order of the Holy Cross—that honor goes to Father Robert Stockton Dod who along with Father Huntington and Father James Cameron joined together in 1881 on the Lower East Side of New York to begin the community that came to be  The Order of the Holy Cross.  But with Father Cameron's departure from the novitiate in October 1883 and then Father Dod's departure due to health reasons in March 1884, Fr. Huntington was left holding the title and the responsibility for the nascent Order.  Others soon arrived, of course, but the job fell to Father Huntington. And as Br. Adam McCoy says in his formative history of our Order:  “It is in this sense that Fr. Huntington became Father Founder: not that he had the founding vision, but that he had the founding strength to remain faithful, and his faithfulness raised up a mighty work.”  (p. 38)

Fr. Huntington served as Superior from 1884 until the very first opportunity he had to relinquish the position with the Life Profession, in 1888, of the second member of the Order, Fr. Sturges Allen. But he went on to serve again as Superior from 1897 until 1907 and then again from 1915 to 1918, and finally once more from 1921 until 1930, a total of twenty-four years. 

When he was elected in 1921, Father Huntington was already 67 years old.  By that time he had been living the monastic life for over forty years and, as we might say today, he had many years of leadership experience under his belt.  He was a seasoned and highly respected figure.

So I was surprised to read an entry from his daily meditations dated August 3, 1922, one year into his final nine-year term.

Before I read it, let me explain that it was then part of the Rule and tradition for each monk to make a daily meditation. But far for being an exercise in non-verbal contemplation, making a meditation generally consisted of a rather set pattern. The night before, a topic or Scripture passage was chosen. The next day, one then elaborated on the passage with three “points” or mini-reflections. These were to be written out in a notebook or journal, and then the whole exercise concluded with a “resolution” or intention for the day.

Our archives is filled with such books of daily reflections and meditations.  They are not always literary or spiritual masterpieces...they were never meant to be.  They were the stuff of private prayer.  But many of our early members, such as Father Huntington, were articulate and literate to a degree that astounds me, and much of what they wrote bears reading, both for their theology and spirituality as well as for what is revealed of their personalities.

So let me read to you that entry from August 3, 1922, by Father Huntington.The announced theme is “A civil ruler takes his oath of office,” and it begins with a quote from the Gospels that was likely the passage on which he was meditating that day: “Blessed is that servant whom his master shall find so doing... whom his lord hath made rule over His household, to give them their portion of meat in due season.”

 
He goes on: 

“In starting afresh on my office as Superior I must realize that I ought to be ready to give an account at any moment.  As “The Son of Man cometh when ye think not.”  A steward must be ever on the tip-toe of expectation for the return of his master. “Give me an account of thy stewardship.”  The call may come at any moment. “Be ye ready also.”  Alas, if the call were to come today how far behind I should be!  Why is it?  Am I unsystematic and for that reason wasteful of time and energy?  Am I attempting more than I should?  Am I giving disproportionate attention to things outside the community? I was, perhaps, wrong in accepting the office in regard to my family, yet that hasn't taken many hours in the course of ten years. I do not spend time in recreation or in study. Is it that I work slowly?  Is it that I ought to use the services of others more than I do?” 

And his resolution?  “To watch patiently today to see where the leak is.”

I love this entry.  I can so identify with it, as I would imagine so many of us here today do. Here is a monk of forty plus years deeply accustomed to the rhythms of the life and the duties and responsibilities of  leadership asking the same questions we all ask from time to time if not constantly.  Why am I so apparently unproductive?  Am I responsible enough, or am I over-responsible?  Do I try to do too much or not enough?  Am I disorganized?  Am I just slow?  Do I delegate?  What have I sidelined?  Recreation? Leisure? Study? 

And we can all add to that list, can't we?  Healthy relationships, community, physical exercise, proper nutrition, adequate rest and sleep, cultural development, creative endeavors, the arts and culture. Where is the leak in your life? In mine?

And it's an interesting resolution our Father Founder makes, isn't it?  A resolution not to rush to instant change or to reach for the quick fix but to watch patiently to see exactly here the leak is, to see what's actually going on, to look perhaps for the root causes of the problem, and then to begin to act on that.  It's an invitation, really, to become skilled observers of our own lives, exercising loving curiosity so that we can see where and what has sidetracked us. And to go on from there.  In this as in so much else, Father Huntington comes across to me as very humble and honest and even forward thinking. It is what endeared him to so many and what, I imagine, also perhaps frustrated those who wanted more decisive action...I think, among others, of his contemporaries such as Fr. Sill and Fr. Hughson. 

But strangely enough the meditation for that date does not end with his resolution. Father Huntington goes on to say, and I quote at length:

“There is a hierarchy of duties. We must use the Gift of Counsel to decide what is the most important of and what is less so.  All strength, or all wisdom, comes from God...consequently we must be sure that not only anything that separates us from God...but also anything that hinders us from an even closer union with Him is a weakening of those powers by which alone any effective work can be done, any lasting good accomplished.  “Mass and merit never hinder work.”  This is a brief statement of this principle.  Whatever lessens our assimilation of necessary nourishment stops our power to do anything whatsoever.  We must eat to live and we must live to work. So it is in the physical order. But the same principle holds in the spiritual order.  The first necessity is to have spiritual vitality, and for that we must use what feeds and re-invigorates our spiritual life.  Prayer, meditation, spiritual reading, above all Mass and Holy Communion, these are our first necessity. These we must secure if the new start is to be effective.”

This passage, too, cuts to the heart of Fr. Huntington's spirit and to ours as well.  If we are to be effective workers in whatever department of life, we must needs make sure that we are being nourished spiritually.  Prayer, meditation, spiritual reading, the Eucharist....these are not luxuries but vital necessities.  And not only for Superiors or monks or clergy but for all Christians.   We know this.

What I find fascinating is that after more than forty years in the monastery, Fr. Huntington still needs to remind himself of this, still needs to be called back to this fundamental truth.  I have to admit that, after my thirty plus years, I found it a great relief to see that I wasn't alone in my struggle to live into this truth.  It is at the heart of any vocation and of all Christian living.
 
So what to do?  Well, we could do worse than to appropriate for today at least, Fr. Huntington's own resolution for August 3, 1922:  to watch patiently for where the leak is. And then, with God's help, to perhaps apply a patch. The image I'm left with is of a bicycle tire, a patch here, a patch there...sooner or later, it is all patchwork.  But the end of that process is, in a sense, whole new tire.  I wonder if God is doing that with us, helping us to recognize and patch the leaks one at a time until one day we become a whole new tire, all patched up and ready to roll.
 
From what I can tell, this seems to be what God did with James Otis Sargent Huntington. Why shouldn't God do it with us as well, one leak patched at a time until with James, the saints and all the ordinary men and women of God, we find ourselves reinvigorated and renewed, transformed ever so slowly yet more and more radically into the mind and heart of Christ?
 
Why not?

Christ the King , Year C - Sunday November 20, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert James Magliula, OHC 

Christ the King , Year C - Sunday November 20, 2016

The Scapegoat

In our readings today on this festival of the Reign of Christ, we’re reminded of just how much our concerns and behaviors over the last twenty-five hundred years remain the same.  Jeremiah expresses his longing and demand for integrity in those who govern. His reference to shepherds is essentially political. King David, the great Shepherd of his people, became associated with kingship. Jeremiah, like all of us, worried about who would be running the country. His opinion of those who might was not very high. “You have scattered my flock and driven them away, and have not attended to them.” He makes a pledge to the people on behalf of God, who is the ultimate Shepherd, to bring them home from exile. He depicts a mysterious vision concerning a righteous Branch of David, who will reign, deal wisely, and do justice for the people.

In our Epistle, Paul struggles to find the words that will express the glory of Christ as Lord. The Letter to the Colossians begins as a prayer for strength and grace. It quickly becomes a lyrical hymn to the glory of Christ. Paul is trying to find language for which there is no language. He strives for the loftiest he can muster, which sets up a startling paradox with today’s Gospel. If our Epistle is filled with blinding light and splendor, our Gospel has us standing under a darkened sky in horror as the Christ, who is worshipped by all creation, hangs naked on an obscene cross.

Luke holds up for us the image of an utterly vulnerable Jesus dying on the cross surrounded by his enemies. This paradox is at the heart of what we mean by Incarnation and kenosis. The mystery of Incarnation is his choosing to enter human flesh and share it with us. The mystery of kenosis, a self-emptying by the Lord of all, is a giving over of all power, all beauty, all glory.

  
How ironic it is, here in the land of mass incarceration and execution, that it is a convicted criminal, undergoing public execution, who is the one to attribute kingship to Jesus. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He doesn’t preface his request with royal titles, but addresses him only as “Jesus”. The speaking of that name evokes a world of meaning and hope. The name means “God will save”. In that gruesome scene where we see no hint of a kingdom, he doesn’t ask to be rescued, but to be remembered. He’s able to recognize the salvation that intrudes into the absolute moment where no one is saved from suffering and death, which is also the moment when salvation breaks through. Jesus’ last words to another human being were words of promise. When he says, “Today you will be with me in paradise”, he is not referring to a 24-hour period of time, but that moment when God’s salvation fractures time. The leaders, the soldiers, the first criminal, and the mob all live in ordinary time where the powers of violence determine events, and death is the last word; but this criminal already lives in the reign of Christ. What does this scene say to us about how we are to live into today?

René Girard developed a sociological and philosophical explanation for how and why the pattern of scapegoating is so prevalent in some form in every culture. Leviticus 16 contains a brilliant ritualization of it. On the Day of Atonement, a priest lays hands on a goat, placing all the sins of the Jewish people from the previous year onto it. Then the goat is beaten with reeds and thorns and driven out into the desert. The people go home rejoicing, just as European Christians did after burning a heretic at the stake, or American whites did after the lynching of black men. Centuries ago Blaise Pascal wrote, “People never do evil so completely and so cheerfully as when they do it with a religious conviction.” Whenever the “sinner” is excluded, our ego is delighted and feels relieved and safe. It sort of works, but only for a while. Usually the illusion only deepens and becomes repetitive—because scapegoating did not really work to eliminate the perceived evil in the first place.

If our ego is still in charge, we will find a disposable person or group on which to project our problems. People who haven’t come to at least a minimal awareness of their own dark side will always find someone else to hate or fear. Unfortunately, hatred and exclusivity hold a group together much more quickly and easily than love and inclusivity. We saw this at play before the election and we see it today.

Jesus came to radically undo scapegoating. He became the scapegoat to reveal the universal lie of scapegoating. The Gospel is a highly subversive document. It painstakingly illustrates how the systems of both church and state conspired to condemn Jesus. Throughout most of history, church and state have sought scapegoats to carry their own shame and guilt. So Jesus became the sinned-against one to reveal the nature ofscapegoating.

He refused to transmit his pain to others. He says from the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing”. Scapegoating largely operates in the unconscious. People think they are doing a holy or patriotic duty. This is why inner work, shadow work, and honest self-knowledge are all essential to any healthy religion. The vast majority of violence in history has been sacralized violence. Convinced that God is on our side, our violence becomes necessary and even redemptive. But there is no such thing as redemptive violence. Violence doesn’t save; it only destroys in both short and long term.  What is set before us this morning is how Jesus replaced the myth of redemptive violence with the truth of redemptive suffering. He showed us how to hold the pain and let it transform us, rather than pass it on to others. We embrace suffering as one vital form of participating in the mystery of the Incarnate One and the healing of the world. Spiritually speaking, no one else is our problem. We are our own problem. Until we own that truth about ourselves, as that criminal did, there can be no reconciliation, no reign of God in our lives.

This is a challenging notion for many of us. We would rather have Jesus say that God loves the people we like and who are like us. We want to be the judge and arbitrator of God’s love, forgiveness, and mercy. On the cross Jesus shares the victimization of humanity and it’s here that he experiences his own resurrection. He neither plays the victim nor creates victims. That’s the model offered to his followers. The work that describes this total dynamic of being given to and giving back with total vulnerability on each side is forgiveness. To forgive we have to be able to see ourselves, then the other person, at least momentarily, as a whole person, an image of God, containing holiness and horror at the same time. Only by acknowledging our own capacity for evil, can we honestly name and resist what is evil outside of us. Jesus consistently denounced evil and took action to address it, not at the expense of the other, but for the benefit of all. Forgiveness encompasses two thirds of Jesus’ teaching, and his death reflects its cost. What we human beings want is resurrection without death, answers without doubt, light without darkness, the conclusion without the process. We flee from the naked, self-emptying Jesus on the cross, the vulnerable one, who knows how to relate to all of creation.

Our Trinitarian theology says that spiritual power is circular, not hierarchical. It’s shared and shareable; it’s already entirely for us and grounded within us. God’s Spirit is planted within each of us. The Trinity reveals that God’s power is not domination, threat, or coercion. Richard Rohr writes that “All divine power is shared power—a giving away, a letting go, an infinity of trust and mutuality”.

Standing before the crucified Jesus we recognize that he became what all of us fear: nakedness, exposure, vulnerability, and failure. He became it to free us from our fear of it. He became what we do to one another and ourselves in order to free us from the lie of punishing each other and ourselves. He became the Crucified so we would stop crucifying. Jesus’ invitation to us from the cross is that we stop killing what we should love, and hating what could transform us.   +Amen.

Propio 28C-13 de noviembre de 2016

Monasterio de la Santa Cruz, West Park, NY
Br. Josép Martinez-Cubero,OHC 
Propio 28C- 13 de noviembre de 2016

VIGESIMOSEXTO DOMINGO EN TIEMPO ORDINARIO
Isaías 65:17-25
2 Tesalonicenses 3:6-13
Lucas 21:5-19

“Vendrán días en que de todo esto que ustedes están viendo no quedará ni una piedra sobre otra. Todo será destruido.”

El género de la porción del evangelio que hemos leído esta mañana pertenece a la literatura apocalíptica de la Biblia. La palabra apocalipsis es de origen griego y significa “revelar”. Lo que principalmente se revela en este tipo de escritura es el fin de la historia y la eternidad que lo seguirá. En otras palabras, la escritura apocalíptica es escatológica (tratando los tiempos del fin). A la misma vez, la escritura se basa en principios que son válidos a lo largo de la historia: el conflicto espiritual entre el bien y el mal y el control soberano de Dios sobre la historia y la naturaleza. El método de descripción es simbólico y visionario, o sea muchos de los detalles se siguen cumpliendo a lo largo de la historia. A mediante de este género de escritura ponemos al mundo en contexto y nos damos cuenta que todo pasa. Sin esta clase de contrapunto corremos el riesgo de tomar a este mundo demasiado en serio, de apegarnos a todo como si fuera a durar para siempre. Nos olvidamos que todo pasa, y todo se acaba.

La lectura del libro del profeta Isaías y el evangelio según San Lucas son escritas a comunidades que han sido sacudidas a la base por decepciones de la vida que ellos ni hubiesen querido ni hubiesen elegido nunca. Isaías le habla a un pueblo que acaba de regresar de exilio en Babilonia. Por muchos años el pueblo ha soñado sobre la Jerusalén que recuerdan, incluso el templo que había sido construido por el rey Salomón, con todo su esplendor. Pero la Jerusalén que encuentran a su regreso es una ciudad en ruinas. Ante ellos se encuentra la tarea monumental de reconstrucción pero sin los recursos que Salomón tenía a su poder. Es un tiempo de profundo pesimismo y desaliento. Pero Isaías nos da una visión para una comunidad de amor y compasión, el nuevo cielo y la nueva tierra que Dios está creando. Cada día, en cada situación, no importa que grande sea la decepción o la perdida tenemos la oportunidad de aceptar que la compasión y el amor de Dios funcionen.

 De manera similar, Lucas le escribe a una comunidad que ha experienciado la devastadora destrucción del templo en Jerusalén y la matanza de sus residentes por el imperio romano. El pueblo conoce muy bien la desesperación que se siente cuando en lo que uno confía muy queridamente ya no puede explicar la realidad en la que uno se encuentra. Recordemos que el evangelio fue escrito alrededor del año 85 d.C., o sea unos quince años después de la tercera destrucción del templo. Se puede decir que el texto no es profecía sino interpretación de historia, la historia que nos enseña que estas cosas se repiten una y otra vez. No obstante esta audiencia busca respuestas. ¿Quién es este Jesús, el que se supone que sea el Mesías, el nuevo rey David mandado para salvarnos de nuestros opresores? ¿Por qué murió? ¿Es verdad que resucitó y vive?¿Por qué Dios permitió que el templo se destruyera? ¿En donde se encuentra Dios en todo esto? El templo y todo lo que conocíamos se encuentra ahora en ruinas. ¿Y ahora qué? El pueblo había construido sus anhelos y sus esperanzas a cuentas del templo. Su imagen de Jesús como el Mesías, el salvador. Ellos como los escogidos y Dios el liberador, protector y la roca en la cual se podían parar. Pero el templo ahora estaba en ruinas.

¿Qué podemos hacer cuando nos fallan las imagines y los ídolos que elegimos para capturar el significado completo de aquél por quien añoramos? Cuando nuestro templo se destruye o la iglesia fracasa. Cuando las teologías son muy límites o las respuestas suenan absurdas o nos dejan queriendo mas. Cuando realidades nuevas se presentan en nuestras vidas. Es entonces que necesitamos el ejemplo de Jesús, quién supo lo que es vivir con las preguntas; rabino judío, maestro, experto en como contestar un pregunta con otra pregunta. Jesús, quién clamó por la justicia y defendió a los marginalizados. Jesús, quién puso a la gente antes de la ley y los animó a resistirse contra la injusticia y sin embargo no quiso usar armas. Jesús, quién desafió el status quo de las autoridades religiosas e insistió que Dios y nosotros somos uno. Jesús, quién insistió que el reino de Dios está aquí en la tierra y ha comenzado. Jesús, el que rompía las reglas y le gustaba las fiestas. Jesús, al que llamaron borrachón y glotón. Jesús, quién lo redujo todo a simplemente el amor, el amor a Dios y el amor al prójimo como sea ama uno mismo. Jesús, el que vivió y amó tan extraordinariamente, dándose completamente a la vida y a la humanidad sin querer desistir aunque sabía que era muy probable que lo mataran. Por eso en él vemos a Dios, la fuente de todo lo que es y siempre será.

 Aquellos de ustedes que tienen cuentas de facebook tal vez vieron, hace unas semanas, la fotografía del letrero de una iglesia que decía: “Cristo viene… y ojalá que sea antes de las elecciones.” Bueno, las elecciones han pasado y hasta la fecha que yo sepa la segunda venida no ocurrió. Todavía estamos aquí, pero ahora tratando de limpiar el desastre de una temporada de elección presidencial que a puesto sobre la mesa todo lo que quisiéramos pensar que no existe en esta nación. Es obvio decir que muchos están deslumbrados, preocupados y hasta con pánico por causa del resultado de la elección presidencial. Para muchos el país se siente completamente destrozado. Pero tenemos que recordar que en nuestra narrativa cristiana de salvación hubieron muchos momentos cuando el pueblo de Dios creyó que todo se había perdido y que no había salida, pero el pueblo siempre fue sorprendido con nueva vida y nuevos caminos emergiendo de circunstancias que parecían no tener ninguna clase de esperanza. (Y también recordemos que Jesús vivió en un territorio sometido al poder tirano del imperio romano que ejercía su dominio.) Ahora mas que nunca tenemos que recordar nuestra identidad como seguidores de Jesucristo y seguir adelante como una comunidad de esperanza, paz, justicia y reconciliación.

Como seguidores de Jesucristo declaramos nuestra confianza en el amor de Dios quien tiene todo el poder. Declaramos esta confianza hasta cuando la iglesia parece no poder contra todo lo que parece estar trabajando en contra del reino de Dios y hasta entre medio de circunstancias que retan nuestro sentido de esperanza. Seguimos adelante, firmes, con estabilidad y fe como insignia de lo que significa ser un creyente. Seguimos siendo testigos de las maravillas que Dios ha hecho, y continuamos aunque parezca lo opuesto. Todo depende en donde y en que centramos nuestro tiempo, nuestro esfuerzo y nuestra visión. Si nos fijamos solo en aquello que es temporario, nos perderemos las cosas que sí duran. Si solo vemos lo que aparenta tener obvia grandeza y esplendor, nos perderemos la belleza de lo que a primera vista parece no ser atractivo. Si nos centramos solo en el daño, lo destructivo, lo que es mortífero, nos perderemos lo que da ánimo, lo que es constructivo y lo que da vida.

Todos esos siglos atrás cuando el templo en Jerusalén se hallaba en ruinas, los seguidores de Jesús se dieron cuenta que Jesús era en realidad el Mesías. En Jesús encontraron el poder del amor. Con el tiempo se dieron cuenta que ese amor nacía una y otra vez en las caras de cada uno de ellos. Así mismo también comenzaron a vivir y amar al máximo, confiando que en Dios, quien es amor, encontrarían nueva vida- vida que es puro regalo.
Como Jesús, vivamos amando, sacrificando, luchando, probando, cuestionando, protestando con dignidad en contra de la injusticia, abrazando cada momento y confiando que Dios, la base de nuestro ser y creador de todo lo que es y siempre será nos sostiene por cada reto y por cada bendito momento no importa lo que venga. ¡Que así sea! ~Amén.

Proper 28 Year C,November 13, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve , OHC 

Proper 28, Year C - Sunday November 13, 2016

“This will give you an opportunity to testify.”

One of the gifts of having four gospels in the canon of Holy Scripture and our three-year lectionary cycle is that we get to journey, during the weeks of the season of Pentecost, with one of the synoptic evangelists and immerse ourselves into the ways our Lord is given presence in such distinct and dramatic ways.  Luke has been a particularly powerful guide and challenge especially this year with news of mass shootings, police killing and being killed, political debate, and now speaking to us on this Sunday after a presidential election.  For Saint Luke, Jesus is, in the parlance of recent politics, the one who “blows up the system” of entrenched customs and prejudices of exclusion, discrimination, and paranoia that characterized much of the way the establishment of Jesus’ time sought to keep power and control.

By acts of compassion and justice across social boundaries and outside the norms of religious purity code, Jesus inaugurates a new community which called the too young, the too old, the poor, tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, the demon-possessed and all kinds of marginalized persons into the embrace of God’s care and out onto the road of joyful obedience and holiness of life.  To those of the “in” group, the call is to a repentance of humility and generosity reflective of life as God’s abundant gift, not a limited commodity to be hoarded and protected.  Luke illustrates for his non-Jewish audience that whoever you are, whatever your ethnic, racial, class position, whatever you have done or has been done to you, you, too, are summoned into new life in Jesus the Christ.  This Jesus-reigning life is both inner healing, forgiveness and repentance AND new eyes to see neighbor through the eyes of Jesus’ boundless and limitless compassion.
 
Given that context, today’s gospel, which is set in the Jerusalem temple during Holy Week, reveals the extent and shock of Jesus’ message of a new humanity. We are dropped into a world of frightening political, religious, natural, and even cosmic upheaval and breakdown centered on the demise of the temple.  By the time Luke is writing the gospel the temple is already destroyed, so his intent is to place the risen and ascended Jesus into solidarity with the persecuted early Christians.  The destruction of the temple by the Romans in 70 AD is the social and theological turning point which moves the symbol of God’s presence from its physical boundaries to the individual Christian as “the temple of the Holy Spirit” to use St. Paul’s phrase from 1 Corinthians.  God has not abandoned the people in the temple’s destruction, but each Christian now embodies the very presence of God.

We rightly think of Luke as the evangelist of compassion, of the lost being found and coming home, but there is also the prophetic edge aimed at the resistance to new life.  Discipleship is always set within and proved in circumstances of crisis, temptation, and opposition.  There is no real following after Jesus and his way without being thrust into the cosmic battle between love and control, service and status. The wilderness of temptation is the heart, the temple, of each Christian.  A romanticized image which believes that I can love my neighbor and follow Jesus and everyone will love me back and live in peace and light is a dangerous betrayal of all that Jesus says and does.  The call to compassion is a battle against the constant encroachment of our stubborn wills and the social and religious forces which oppose compassion.

To follow in the way of Jesus means that compassion and resistance are partners in the way of reconciliation.  The purpose of the mention of war, earthquakes, plagues, heresy and persecution is to usher the reader into the heart of the moment when one Christian stands before some king or governor to give testimony.  Everything that is taken for granted as stable and secure, all the sources of human flourishing, are smashed – revealing just how tenuous and fragile life actually is.  And revealing what is really inside the soul.

When everything is gone, Jesus is there, giving words and comfort, assuring the suffering of their ultimate salvation in God’s hands.  When all is destroyed, life comes down to my willingness, my exposed and vulnerable soul becoming a vessel for Jesus’ words and power to flow through me and keep loving, keep undermining the power system, even if it is the last thing I do.  The new humanity and community of Jesus is a testifying humanity.

In 2008 the late Phyllis Tickle wrote The Great Emergence: How Christianity is Changing and Why which describes exactly what is coming to pass today 500 years after Luther’s 95 theses, which she calls the last great upheaval.  She states that the central question during these one every 500 years events is “Who is in charge?”  We live in a time of shifting definitions and authorities.  The power of office or title doesn’t hold the weight of respect it did even in the recent past.  Who or what defines what is Christian?  How is that definition defended and by whom?  If I simply call myself a Christian, what does that mean?  Must I claim to be a certain kind of Christian?  If many people value individual moral decision-making and interpretations of scripture, what shared values form the basis of community and common mission? These kinds of questions are the new normal.   Definers and categories and affiliations are all jumbled up.

 “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Do we despair or testify?  We live in a time ripe with invitations to live our faith with courage, adventure, and creativity.  We need not draw new lines or impose new definitions, but we must testify, we remember and reclaim what is ultimate and foundational even in, especially in, the jumbled chaos.  When structures and security are gone and Jesus is all you have, then you realize that Jesus is all you ever needed.
 
“This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Testifying has taken on added seriousness since the election – for all of us.  This is our opportunity, whatever your political affiliation, to face the moment.  And what is involved in our moment?  Testify that our ultimate identity is not in party or election, as important as they are, but in the kingdom of heaven.  Testify that the minority, the least, the bullied or dismissed, are those with whom we are to stand just as Jesus did.  Testify that as Christians we cannot sit on the fence. We can no longer rely on being the entitled and privileged people of empire, ensconced in walled churches that ignore the other.  We either live together – all of us - or inevitably tear each other apart.  The church is now a confessing church, a resistance movement against forces on both the right and the left which seek to neutralize or coopt it.  If the gospel was ever a nice story about being a better person, it cannot be that any longer.  The gospel is our blueprint for the transformation of how we are to be and act together.  We testify that the reconciling love of enemies is becoming more difficult in the face of so much invective and suspicion.  We will practice reconciliation.  We will love our enemies.  We testify that we will face insult with longsuffering, persecution with forgiveness.  We will hold out our hand to our neighbor and when it is slapped away we will cry and then we hold it out again because we are people of hope – a hope that will be fulfilled. Testify in hope and for hope.

If Jesus comes to seek and save the lost then that first means each of us.  In those times when we feel anger and want to lash out,  it would be so easy to give up, to give in to fear, Jesus gives power and comfort and words to us and for us.  Jesus finds us and saves us in our confusion and grief.  When the temples fall, when the truth is challenged, when the earth quakes, when the nations war, when our family and friends have left, Jesus is with us.  Then he sends us out into the world as the Word spontaneously speaking within us the love, mercy, compassion, of Christ’s whole life indwelling and empowering us to be him, his body.  “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”  Amen.

Proper 27, Year C - Sunday November 6, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Borden, OHC 

Proper 27, Year C - Sunday November 6, 2016

Today we find Jesus in this rather odd encounter with Sadducees. And one of the first things we must do is clear our minds of other places in scripture where Jesus is encountering Sadducees and Pharisees. Generally when the Sadducees and Pharisees are involved, it is a trap – they are ganging up on Jesus to try to catch him with some complexity of law. And, just to complete that thought, Jesus always prevails...

But this encounter is different. And perhaps the absence of the Pharisees is our big clue... The encounter begins with a question that sounds to us like a trick. After all, the question is primarily focused on life in the resurrection and Luke begins by reminding us that the Sadducees don't believe in resurrection. Obviously they must be up to something...
But keep in mind that the Sadducees (and Pharisees as well) were sincerely faithful people. In my mind they tend to turn into shallow and cynical folks who exist primarily to challenge Jesus – and in the Gospels that is largely their function. I tend to lump them, Scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees, into a group under the general heading Hypocrites. And when I put them under the heading, then I can more or less ignore them. But lets not ignore them now...

In the Jewish tradition at the time of Jesus there was an evolving understanding of the afterlife. A belief in resurrection was coming into general acceptance, but the Sadducees were, as we might say today, traditionalists. The tradition held that the afterlife was not a different life in a different realm, but rather that a person (and by that, they meant a man) lived on through his children and his children's children, and so on.

In this understanding, a man who dies with no children has no afterlife. So it is important, and even commanded in scripture, that his brother step in and produce children with the dead man's wife. This is the practice of levirate marriage – a term derived from Latin, meaning brother-in-law marriage.

Keep in mind that there was no restriction on the number of wives a man could have, so any good brother-in-law could marry his late brother's wife... Indeed he was required to do so.

But look at the urgency and importance of the Sadducees question. They are trying to understand the notion of afterlife in their changing world. In the traditional understanding this sequence of marriages leaves the man with no afterlife because there are no children. In the new understanding there is the possibility of afterlife for the man – you can see why the question is important.

Still, the Sadducees can't escape their understanding that afterlife is somehow child-dependent. In the resurrection who's wife is this? Who's children can she produce? I think they are truly trying to understand. But they don't know how to ask the question.

Mark tells the same story – but in Mark's memory, Jesus snaps at the Sadducees. He says: "Are you not wrong because you do not know scripture or the power of God?" But in Luke's memory, Jesus is more patient. Those who live in this age get married... but in the age of the resurrection people don't get married. And for those Sadducees worried about eternal life he assures them that in the resurrection, people can not die. Reproduction is no the key to eternal life.

And for those anxious Sadducees still not sure that there is any resurrection, Jesus puts forward the greatest authority they know, the one they started with – Moses. God is God of the living. The Sadducees may question Jesus, but not Moses.

What might this be saying to us?

Well certainly the question of levirate marriage is hardly a burning one today. But we do have lots of questions about marriage... I don't think this story answers too many of them, but that may be an answer we need. What Jesus does say is that marriage is of this world – of this age. In the age of resurrection it is not a thing.

For those who have enjoyed loving and deeply life-giving marriages, Jesus' observation that in heaven there is no marriage may be painful. I know many a widow and widower who in some ways looked toward their own death as a way to be reunited with their loved one. It is a deeply comforting thought. Jesus doesn't say they won't be reunited, but he does make clear that the new life will not be just a continuation of the old.

On the other hand, those who have suffered at the hands of an abusive spouse may well find deep comfort and assurance that in heaven they will not be stuck with the abusive spouse...

What I want, and I think many of us want, is some concrete, clear, airtight assurance of how good the resurrection will be. This is the desire I think that motivates the Sadducees. It motivated the disciples when they were chasing after Jesus imploring him to tell them about heaven – and his cryptic reply... heaven is a very big place with lots of room. Don't worry about it. When we want to be assured that heaven is lovely and that our place is reserved, the answer is don't worry about it.

I'm not about to argue that heaven isn't lovely... nor am I about to argue that some of us are heaven bound while others are surely on their way to hell. What I would argue is that our earthly concepts, our earthly desires, our earthly senses can not tell us about heaven. And our quest for concrete certainty only serves to obscure our vision and diminish our knowledge of heaven, just as it did for the Sadducees.

An odd thing happens right at the end. We've been hearing about Sadducees and Jesus has been talking, presumably, to Sadducees. But the very last interchange is not Sadducees and Jesus, but rather Scribes and Jesus. It is the Scribes who say "Teacher, you have spoken well." And it is the Scribes who dare ask no more questions.This may be of little importance... but I want to read a great deal into it. So bear with me.

Scribes and Pharisees are often a sort of short hand for unfriendly inquisitors - those who try to trip up Jesus with loaded questions. In fact, just before today's reading these folks have been trying to trap Jesus with a question about paying taxes. You remember the answer: render unto Cesar what is Cesar's... The purpose of that question was to get Jesus in trouble.

The Sadducees are really asking a question and really seeking an answer. They are not trying to topple Jesus. The nature of our questions determines the direction of the answers. Sincere questions move us toward sincerity while trick questions move us toward trickery.

We can not help but wonder about heaven. To say that we won't is a fruitless endeavor. But when we focus our questions on how good we'll have it in the next world, that moves away from involvement in this world.

Karl Marx famously said: "Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people." He wanted to abolish religion because of the false happiness, the opium, it provides. I think Marx understood human nature quite well. I don't think he understood God, or Jesus, or the Gospel.

Dwelling on how marvelous heaven, God's Kingdom, will be is not what Jesus calls us to. Building God's Kingdom here on earth is what Jesus calls us to. We are called to heal the heartless world, not to anesthetize it. God is God of the living and so it is with the living that we must seek to know and to serve God.

I don't hear Marx so much as condemnation, but rather as a warning. If we are honest, there are certainly occasions when people, in the name of religion, have sought to preserve a distinctly unjust status quo with promises of a better life to come – or as one wag put it; There'll be pie in the sky by and by...If there is a problem in the Sadducees' question it is that they are seeking Karl Marx's opium – they want to be assured about eternal life. And Jesus firmly redirects their attention, and our attention to this life... to be faithful to God – the God of the living - here and now.

All Saints’ Day 2016 and First Profession of the Monastic Vow of Br. Aidan William Owen- Nov. 1

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert James Magliula, OHC 

All Saints' Day and First Profession of the Monastic Vow- Tuesday,  November 1, 2016

Aidan's Handwritten First Profession of the Monastic Vow. 

What a glorious feast, made even more glorious by Will’s first Profession of the vow!

 Around this time last year, Matthew shared with me a piece written by Cynthia Borgeault about how the Fall offers us a Triduum in All Hallows Eve, All Saints, and All Souls Day. Triduum, which means “three days”, is the name applied to those three days that form the heart of the Holy Week celebration encompassing Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter. The solemn passage through this sacred space is experienced not only as a set of external observances, but also as a journey deep within our own hearts.

Both Spring and Fall Triduums deal in different ways with the Paschal Mystery, that passage from death to life which is at the heart of Christian and all mystical paths. In Spring the days are lengthening, the earth is bringing forth new life.  In the Fall the movement is more inward. The days are shortening, and the earth draws once again into itself. Everything in the natural world confronts us with reminders of our own fragility and mortality. She wrote:

“In the quiet, brown time of the year, these Fall Triduum days are an invitation to do the profound inner work: to face our shadows and deep fears (death being for most people the scariest of all), to taste that in ourselves which already lies beyond death, then to move back into our lives again, both humbled and steadied in that which lies beyond both light and dark, beyond both life and death.”

So in the midst of this season, the days do offer themselves as a journey, a venue for the process of conversion, one that is not so unfamiliar to the inner work with which a monastic cooperates.

All Saints’ is the centerpiece of the Fall Triduum and is the thinnest of the thin places between heaven and earth, the living and the dead. We Christians dare to hope beyond the constraints of mortality. In a culture that seeks its own gratification at any cost, that spends its produce and its people as though there were no tomorrow, we dare to live as though there is a tomorrow and more, a place wherein which, and a people with whom to share that tomorrow.

In The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris describes an experience that gets to the very heart of what today’s feast is about. She writes:

“A monk said to me one day, ‘It’s time for you to meet the rest of the community.’ We walked to the cemetery, and through it, and as we passed each grave, he told me stories about the deceased.”

Today we celebrate our unity with the body of Christ throughout time. Each time we worship at the altar, the whole host of heaven crowds the air over our heads. It’s one of the miracles of God’s grace that all of time and space are gathered in that moment. At the altar, in that moment of intimacy, the kingdom, which is to come, is present.  The limitations are lifted, and we are one. For this reason the Church commends this feast as one of the five set apart for Baptism. What an appropriate context it is for Will to be deepening his commitment to the monastic expression of the baptismal covenant today, where we all receive our call to be saints.

In the Letter to the Ephesians, the writer prays that the hearers’ hearts might be enlightened, so that they may know the hope to which Christ calls them. To see with the heart is to imagine the future God is preparing. We are not only shaped by our experiences; we are shaped by our hopes, by the future into which we are living, and by the convictions by which we are living. Hope is best perceived by the eyes of the heart. Hope is best lived within a hopeful community, in the company of saints, both living and dead.

Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us that “To be a saint you don’t have to be famous, or perfect, or dead.  You just have to be you—the one-of-a-kind, never-to-be-repeated human being whom God created you to be—to love as you are loved, to open your arms to the world.” That’s a good description of the inner work of initial formation, and what Will has been tending to these past two years. As a Benedictine he has come to know that this happens in community.

We have all this company—all these saints sitting right here whom we can see for ourselves, plus those we cannot, all of them encouraging us, challenging us, and perhaps most especially, reminding us that we and they are not perfect. We are part of them, and they are part of us. None of us would be here if not for the love and prayers, the guidance and teaching of friends and family, of these saints living and dead, for whose lives we give thanks.

The vow that Will is about to make is extremely counter-cultural. We live in a society that places great importance upon external signs of success. We have to assure ourselves and others that we are valuable and important—because we doubt that we are. We live in an affluent society that’s always expecting more, wanting more, and believes it even deserves more. But the more we own, ironically enough, the less we enjoy. 

The more we project our soul’s longing onto things, the more things disappoint us. Benedict and James Huntington knew this well and addressed it in their Rule. Happiness is an inside job. When we expect to find happiness outside of ourselves, we are always disappointed.

The true goal of all religion is to lead us back to the place where everything is one, to the experience of radical unity with God and all of creation. That’s the monastic quest that Will has been living. When we live consciously we experience that basic connection. Out of that comes a sense of satisfaction and abundance, which makes it easier to live in the truth of who we are. We’re then able to draw from that abundance and share it freely with others. We stop trying to decide who is worthy of it because we know that no one is. It is pure grace and gift! Last month Will posted this in his blog:

“Eventually in every faithful life, we will reach a point–most likely many points–when we realize that we are desperately in need of salvation and, at the same time, totally unable to save ourselves. When this knowledge travels from the head down to the heart, it breaks that heart open. Such experiences are painful. But as we allow the weight of our poverty and need to break open our hearts, there is more room for those same hearts to be filled with Christ’s transforming light and life.”

This lived process he describes requires vulnerability. Vulnerability is the key to ongoing conversion and growth.  It’s a risky position to live in a kind of constant openness to the other—because it means others could, and inevitably will, sometimes wound us. But only if we take this risk do we also allow the opposite possibility: the other might also gift us, free us, and even love us. Benedict and James arrived at this truth by lived experience, which led them to emphasize building community, and crafting a Rule, and a vow that would support it.

The Spirit flows through, out, and beyond us when we live a vulnerable life—the life we see mirrored in a God who is described as Trinity, as three perfectly handing themselves over, emptying themselves out, and then fully receiving what has been handed over. Such a life naturally births creativity and generativity.

It’s been my privilege to witness the work of the Spirit in Will’s ongoing discernment these last years: his cooperation with both the work of his psyche and that of the Spirit, keeping himself vulnerable to life and love, cultivating creativity, and wrestling with all that would destroy it. The ego hates and fears change and failure, but those who are Spirit-led never stop growing. The path to holiness is the same as the path to wholeness. We are never there yet. We are always on the way. There’s no controlling or manipulating it. All we can do is recognize it and tend it. Again, Will named it when he wrote:

“As we learn to surrender this kind of dying and rising action, we allow God to turn our lives into an oblation for the healing of the world. We cannot accomplish this pouring out of our lives. We can only accede to it. In the moments when we do, we find that the crucified life that we seek draws us ever deeper in to the heart of God.”

 As I said last month at Josép’s profession, the religious life is an ever-deepening love affair. This is the only way to make sense of it and faithfully live into it.  In the words of the Order’s great mystic, Fr. Alan Whittimore:

“I have known very many monks and nuns who were successful in love beyond all dreams or imagining. For they have heard in their hearts the whispering of the Perfect Lover. And it has been their deepest passion and their joy to surrender themselves to Him unto death, even the death of the Cross.”

May it continue to be so for you, Will!
+Amen.

Proper 26 C- Sunday October 30, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Peter Rostron, OHC
Proper 26, Year C - Sunday - October 30, 2016

Zaccheus by Maxim Sheshukov

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. His days of earthly ministry will soon be coming to an end. Along the way, people are clamoring to see him and hear him, and be touched by him, wanting to be healed. Just before his encounter with Zacchaeus, before he entered Jericho, Jesus heard a blind man shouting to him insistently, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stops and responds, “What do you want me to do for you?”  Zacchaeus did not cry out to Jesus like the blind man, but in the act of climbing that tree, he too reached out to Jesus, and Jesus responded. Imagine Jesus standing before you, asking “What do you want me to do for you?” What would you say? What do you desire? As I prayed with this story, that is what welled up inside me as the crucial question: What do you desire? Knowing honestly and humbly what our deepest desires are is central to how we live our lives and to our relationship with God.

At the core of our relationship with God is prayer. It is our desires that lie at the heart of our prayer lives. In their wonderful book, Primary Speech, Ann and Barry Ulanov write that “all prayer begins with desire. Desire comes in many forms. At its best, desire in prayer is what Augustine calls an ‘affectionate reaching out to God.’ We long for contact, for connection at the center, that grounding that brings full-hearted peace of mind and soul. We want to be in touch with what lives within everything that matters, with what truly satisfies.” We reach out, as did all those who asked, who begged, for Jesus to stop and heal them, who stretched out their arms to touch his cloak, who dug a hole through a roof to be dropped at Jesus’s feet. And as Zacchaeus did in climbing that tree, we yearn to make contact with God. And, God yearns to make contact with us, or, more correctly, he yearns for us to respond to his desire for us, his love for us.

It is quite essential to recognize that the desire within us is God’s desire. We respond - or we don’t respond - to God’s call to us. God is calling to us all the time and is the initiator of our prayer. Our most basic task in climbing our own tree toward God is to listen and respond to God, to make ourselves available to God. Of course, we are busy people, with things we need to be doing, places we need to go, and people we need to see, so this simple act of being available to God can be challenging. As the Ulanovs put it, “All of us have trouble finding the time to pray. We solve the problem...best when we begin where we are… For some of us praying starts anytime… It may be when we are jogging, doing exercises, or taking a bath. Or when we are cooking… or when we bend over our baby’s crib… when we ride the bus or subway or work in the garden, or when we sit and stare into space… Some of us pray only when we cry or are desperate and afraid…  Some of us pray only in church in the safety of set prayers or prayers vocalized for us. We must each begin in the way that comes to us, for in that way God is approaching us and knocking on our door.” So, make yourself available to God, begin where you are.

A second important element toward responding to God’s call, God’s desire, and climbing that tree is to trust in God. Those are easy words, but to truly put all your trust in God is a great challenge and a great risk. Zacchaeus took a great risk. He, while viewed as a sinner and a collaborator by others, was also a man of wealth and status, who would have dressed well and would normally not be seen climbing a tree. By doing so, he certainly risked making a spectacle of himself in front of everyone. He risked falling. 

Ultimately, he risked admitting the wrongs he had committed, and he risked changing his life, with the likely loss of income, status, friends, and security. There is a lot of inertia that keeps us where we are, and without fully trusting in God, things will not change. Think about how much of what we do is governed by others’ expectations, by advertising and social pressures - our choices in careers, clothing, food, or recreation, for instance. We want to fit in, we want to succeed, but conforming is quite often inconsistent with true Gospel living. Going against the grain can be very hard, climbing a tree for all to see is risky. But the reward can be very great, as Zacchaeus experienced when Jesus came into his home.

So, prayer and trust must be cultivated so that our desire for God can flourish. The third piece I want to highlight is what the Ulanovs described as “connection at the center.” God dwells at the center of each of us, and God desires to be whole; thus, we are drawn toward each other and toward God, toward unity. That is the fundamental root of our desire. It is what Quakers call the Light Within. It is expressed in love: the love of committed relationships, of parenting, of ministering to the poor and needy.

It is the source of that fleeting, intense feeling of unity and peace that we sometimes experience in the astounding beauty of the earth or a work of art or a piece of music. It is what drew Zacchaeus up into that tree and has drawn people of all kinds and in all ages toward God.

In his powerful 1942 book, A Testament of Devotion, Quaker Thomas R. Kelly writes, “The Inner Light, the Inward Christ, is no mere doctrine, belonging [just] to a small religious fellowship, to be accepted or rejected as mere belief. It is the living Center of Reference for all Christian souls and Christian groups - yes, and of non-Christian groups as well - who seriously mean to dwell in the secret place of the Most High. He is the center and source of all action, not the endpoint of thought. He is the locus of commitment, not a problem for debate. Practice comes first in religion, not theory or dogma. And Christian practice is not exhausted in outward deeds. These are the fruits, not the roots.”

The root is our desire. It can lead us to climb the tree with Zacchaeus and receive, or perhaps become, those fruits. But we can do so only if we listen and respond to God’s being within us, God’s desire for us, made known to us in our prayer and in our relationships with others, the members of the body of Christ. And we can respond to God meaningfully only if we put our trust completely in God so that we are willing to risk falling, or failing, risk the discomfort of change; and, we can respond only if we let the light within us - God within us - be the center and source of all our actions.