The Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost B - November 10, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement
The Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 27 B

1 Kings 17:8-16
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

          Life is full of contrasts.  The young and the old.  The rich and the poor.  The good and the bad.  The wise and the. . . not so wise.  Contrasts of color.  Contrasts of opinion.  Contrasts of personalities.  Contrasts of beliefs.  Some see these latter contrasts as life-enhancing, others as life-threatening.  Some live lives that make space for “the other,” while some live lives that dismiss, ignore, or exclude “the other.”  The tension that exists between “us and them” has existed from the dawn of time and is one of the persistent themes in both our secular and sacred writings since antiquity.  But there is one thematic contrast in our own Judeo-Christian Scriptures that may stand above all others, which unifies to whole sacred story from cover to cover.  It’s the contrast between power and weakness, between the callous heart of pride and the wide-open heart of humility.

          In the Gospel of Mark, we are in one instance presented with the self-assured scribe decked in his fine regalia basking in his notoriety and position of authority and honor.  In the other instance we are presented with a poor, defenseless widow with zero self-regard.  One is a taker, the other a giver.  One is preoccupied with a façade, the other with compassion.  One professes faith, the other lives it.

          This meta-contrast of power vs. weakness goes to the heart of the human story—and even beyond to the story of creation itself.  If the evolutionary journey of creation is one of “survival of the fittest,” embedded within our DNA is the ego drive to survive at whatever cost, even if it is at the cost of another part of God’s good creation.  Left unchecked, the ego mounts upon whatever chariot is available to conquer and to control and to dominate—all to secure the propagation of itself into the future.  It lives for immortality and can become consumed with fame, fortune, and the fantasies of its own grandiose imaginings.  The unchecked ego, then, becomes isolated, cut-off from the rest of creation exhausting itself by trying to live on its own terms, in its own fabricated reality.  And at the foundation of its bloated pride is no foundation at all.  There is nothing there but a small, insecure, frightened child masked in a sometimes presentable, often times threatening, persona expending its energy on justifying itself, on defending itself, and on asserting itself.  

          The dangers such a person or group of people that nurtures such egocentrism are obvious enough.  We see it in our civil discourse.  We see it in our politics.  If we are not vigilant, we can even see it in our religious communities.  And, alas, we see it in ourselves.  If only we all saw it in ourselves!  But we don’t, probably because it’s just too painful and uncomfortable.  And maybe the greatest danger facing us Americans at this critical time in our history is the validation, even celebration, of ego-inflation and the denigration of humility and weakness.

          It is prophetic, then, that in light of today’s current events the church in her liturgy holds up before us the dignity and honor of a poor widow.  In the world of biblical patriarchy, a woman who has lost her husband was among the most vulnerable of society.  Without a source of income, without civil recourse, without personal autonomy.  This is why the inspired authors demand particular care for widows.  They are to be provided food and shelter and even a husband, if possible.  And those who neglect and mistreat widows come under the strictest judgment.  Particularly in the prophets, the care of widows is the barometer for determining the health of the nation.  

          This all explains Jesus’ righteous indignation at the scribes who are devouring widows’ houses.  Notice the connection Jesus makes between the abuse of widows and the pomp that preoccupies the scribes.  For Jesus, they are intricately linked together in one unhealthy, unholy alliance.  The scribes religiously exploit the poor widow taking all that she had to, in effect, beautify themselves, of course, all “for the sake of the temple.”  And Jesus will not let such religious hypocrisy go by uncontested.  And so he calls them out on it.  

          The temple which the scribes were supposedly so concerned about was the place where Israel’s God dwelled on earth and the place where Israel could go to dwell with her God in prayer and find refuge and renewal.  Yet, time and again, the temple was exploited for personal aggrandizement and its purposes obscured and manipulated…and its God along with it.  Jesus, in full prophetic mode, subverts the scribes’ destructive egos by revealing where true power lies, right there in the selfless choice of a poor widow who had the ability to give all that she had, her two copper coins, to God.  There is the true manifestation of the presence of God. 

There is the true temple.

          Of course, there is more to the story.  And we hear it in today’s passage from Hebrews.  The poor widow’s gift of all that she had prefigures Christ himself who, as a priest, does not offer something outside himself, like the blood of bulls or goats, but sacrifices his own self.  The Scriptures say that he did this “to remove sin.”  Or, you could say, he did this to deal with the unchecked ego and its abuse of power.  This, then, is the good news for us today: that when God, the all-powerful, omnipotent Creator of all that is, chose to bear the divine heart to the world, it was done through one who, like a poor widow, walked the path of vulnerable humility and weakness, defenseless in the face of civil and religious power structures yet completely free from the egocentric entropy that those power structures create.  And by offering himself in total vulnerability on the cross, unleashes a power… you can say a superpower…upon the earth that alone can transfigure the calloused, power-hungry heart into a humble, open, and free heart that can give of itself without counting the cost, just like this poor, holy widow.

          Today’s other widow, the widow of Zeraphath from First Kings, teaches us another important lesson about such faith and about such a God.  So extreme was her crisis that she resigned herself to death, but she learns, through Elijah’s encouragement, that when we give of the little that we have, God’s power is unleashed and the little that we have can be turned into an unlimited source of life.  This is a truth repeated throughout the Bible, from barren womb of Sarah, to this widow of Zarephath, to the blood and water that poured out of the side of the crucified Savior.  And this truth extends beyond the Bible to us as well when our simple, yet sincere, acts of faith break open the treasury of God’s blessings and we come to know that power is made perfect in weakness.

          This has always been the church’s gospel, her good news to proclaim and live.  But, I assert that it is more crucial now perhaps than ever before that we as church understand clearly and live selflessly this gospel mandate.  Many today have deep, legitimate concerns about both the state of our country and the state of our world.  Many feel anxious and wonder if we’re heading all-too close to an irreversible precipice.  Many are confounded by the abuse of power and the legitimization of hatred and violence that has crept into our society, often at the expense of the most vulnerable in our communities.  And many feel that the distortion of reality may make it nearly impossible to find common ground between contrasting ideologies and fear the place to which this may eventually lead.  If you are among those that feel these things, and I certainly do myself, allow me to offer three Christian responses that may be helpful in light of today’s readings:

1.                 Don’t allow the contrast between your worldview and an opposing worldview cause you to demonize or dehumanize the other no matter how demonic or dehumanizing their worldview may be.  An “us vs. them” mentality will only widen the chasm.

2.                 The process toward justice and peace is a long one full of setbacks and disappointments.  So, hold to the faith that God remains God even when the clouds set in.

3.                 Never tire of preaching the gospel of our crucified Savior.  When the demonic head of hate, division, and lies begins to rear its head, and it almost certainly will, counter it with the gospel of love, unity, and truth.  And don’t just preach it, live this gospel of love in the face of hate, unity in the face of division, and truth in the face of lies.  Absorb these demonic forces in the power that God provides, and put them to death by your refusal to retaliate or propagate them. 

Love covers a multitude of sins.  

          Our Christ was consumed with a vision.  He called it the Kingdom of God.  It was a vision of a time when the demonic forces of hatred, division, and lies would be cast out completely and peace would envelop all creation.  We’re not there yet!  So, let us be consumed with this same vision and put our faith into practice and through our love for one another…all another…and our radical fidelity to the truth, let us continue to fight the good fight, not with the weapons of aggression and force but with the power that comes from God, hearts that make peace because they are at peace and hands that bless even when being cursed.

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost B - November 3, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert Leo Sevensky

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 26B, November 3, 2024

• Deuteronomy 6:1-9
• Psalm 119:1-8
• Hebrews 9:11-14
• Mark 12:28-34

Click here for an audio of the sermon

Today's gospel passage should be familiar to almost everyone here this morning. The so-called Great Commandment discourse appears in all three synoptic gospels, though each within a slightly different context and each taking a slightly different direction or turn. And we hear them every year in our Sunday Eucharist readings.
Last year we heard Matthew's rendition with its wonderful conclusion instantly recognizable to any who attended or still attend traditional language Anglican worship: “...on these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”  Next year we will hear Luke’s version. While different from Mark only in minor details, it concludes with the lawyer or scribe who posed the initial question about the greatest commandment asking Jesus a second follow-up question:  “And who is my neighbor?” And that, of course, leads into what is arguably Jesus’s most memorable parable, that of the Good Samaritan with its powerful concluding advice: “Go and do likewise.”
Mark's version that we hear this morning is probably the earliest and most concise of the three. And refreshingly, the lawyer or scribe is presented as a sincere seeker after truth rather than as an adversary setting Jesus up in some kind of test or trap. Maybe we can all take heart from this. Having said this, however, I find it difficult to know what more to say about this passage that has not already been said by me or by others. Is there anything new here? Anything revolutionary? Anything transformative?
This past week saw the conclusion of The Most Reverend Michael Curry’s nine-year term as Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. Bishop Michael, as he was known, was a gentle pastor and a captivating preacher. He preached here in this chapel in 2017. And a friend who heard him preach in Poughkeepsie said afterwards that it was like watching a whirling dervish in the high pulpit of Christ Church, so much so that he thought the bishop might just fly right out. I can believe that. I was present at the General Convention where he was elected Presiding Bishop and remember well the excitement and the hope that were palpable. I also attended his installation at the National Cathedral in Washington DC.  Again, it was a service of tremendous beauty, hope, and joy. Of course, Bp. Michael became an international celebrity for his sermon at the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. He was, it is safe to say, not your usual Anglican divine; he was an heir to a tradition of enslavement and exclusion and a deep Christian spirituality that found accent and voice in his sermons here and around the world. For me, however, his legacy is summed up not in a new teaching, but in the new expression of an old one, just as Jesus himself and other rabbis did in their day. And that is his teaching: “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.”  This axiom or formula does not tell us what we should or should not do. But it does give us a guideline, a rule, a measure to assess ourselves, our own actions or inaction as well as the dramas of our own interior life, of our own hearts. It is, as it were, the standard, the Golden Rule, for personal, social, and political life. “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.”
In his living this guidance and in his fearless and unembarrassed embrace of Jesus in a church that has sometimes been reluctant to claim and own the name of its Savior and Lord, and in his work around the Beloved Community as a vision toward the Kingdom of God, Bishop Michael changed the language and heart of the Episcopal Church as one friend put it. “If it’s not about love, it’s not about God.” 
But—and maybe you knew this was coming—a caveat. We need to be careful and deliberate about what we love and how we love. St. Augustine writing 1600 years ago says: “Everybody loves; the question is, what is the object of our love? In Scripture we are not urged to stop loving, but instead to choose what we love.”  Augustine is right: everybody loves. Each of us has some orienting desire which shapes our decisions, our days, our lives. For too many it is quite basic. It is the simple desire for safety, food, and housing. For many others it is the desire for power. For others financial or vocational success. Or for healthy relationships. Others perhaps hope for freedom from paralyzing fear or anxiety or depression or to be cured once and for all of one or another physical malady. Truthfully, I think many of us have several such loves, and they sometimes appear to conflict with each other. And if you are like me, you have at best only a vague awareness of what many of these are. As so the 1980 Country pop song got it right:  we are often looking for love in all the wrong places, and mostly because we don’t know what it is we are looking for.
What to do?
A quarter of a century ago, at a deeply complicated and low point in my life, I poured out my secret pain to a priest friend who is now a bishop in the Church of England. And in response he sent me one of the most helpful letters I have ever received. It consisted solely of  a long quote from the Anglican laywoman, spiritual director and writer, Evelyn Underhill (1875 -1941)  It is a prayer for wholeness :
“O Lord, penetrate those murky corners where we hide memories and tendencies on which we do not care to look, but which we will not disinter and yield freely up to you, that you may purify and transmute them: the persistent buried grudge, the half-acknowledged enmity which is still smouldering; the bitterness of that loss we have not turned into sacrifice; the private comfort we cling to; the secret fear of failure which saps our initiative and is really inverted pride; the pessimism which is an insult to your joy, Lord; we bring all these to you, and we review them with shame and penitence in your steadfast light.”
It is obviously a prayer of penitence. But it is more than that. It is a prayer for the purifying and clarification and reordering of our loves so that in the end, we might love aright, that we might love God instead of some false image that we think is God, that we might say confidently with Bp. Curry: “If it’s not about love it’s not about God” and have some degree of trust that we are not entirely deceiving ourselves. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?
Today’s passage from Mark ends: “When Jesus saw that he (the scribe) answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”  Dean Andrew McGowan of Yale Divinity School comments: “...the scribe, being in conversation with Jesus himself, is already next to the one whose presence embodies the reign of God. Of course others have also been that close, but have failed to see what was in front of them.”
May we be counted among those who are not far from the kingdom of God. Like the scribe, let us draw near to Jesus and find in him the full outpouring of God’s essential nature as Love itself…a love that clarifies, purifies, and reorders our own precious loves…and blesses them. May we discover that Love today in Scripture and Sacrament, in prayer and service and above all in each other. And in the mirror.
Amen.

All Saints' Day, November 1, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero

All Saints' Day, November 1, 2024

Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9 Revelation 21:1-6a John 11:32-44

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

I was happy to see my name on the preaching rota for All Saints Day again because this time of year has become very special and meaningful for me. Cynthia Borgeault calls it the Fall Triduum: All Hallows Eve, All Saints, and All Souls. We know about the Triduum that forms the heart of the Holy Week celebration- Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the great Vigil of Easter. The external observances of these days help us to experience a solemn journey deep within our hearts.

Both Spring and Fall Triduums deal with the Paschal Mystery, the passage from death to life which is at the heart of all mystical paths. They do so, however, with a different emotional and spiritual character and experience. In the Spring the days are lengthening, resurrection energy is moving through the earth as it bursts with new life. In the Fall the movement is inward. The days are shortening, the leaves are dying and falling, and the earth draws into itself. The fall season confronts us with reminders of our own mortality.

Like the Spring Triduum, the Fall Triduum offers us a journey. It begins with All Hallows Eve. Unlike the consumerism and excess of Halloween, All Hallows Eve can be an occasion for facing our shadow self and becoming aware of the tricks our ego tries to play on us when it doesn’t get what it wants.

Having faced our shadow self, we then move to today’s feast of All Saints, the celebration of the Communion of Saints, that glorious band of those like stars appearing, of dazzling brightness, golden crowns wearing, as the offertory hymn we will sing so beautifully and poetically describes it. Communion is what they’re doing- communing- dissolving in gratitude at that great banquet, where there is no more tears, no more weeping, no more pain, but only rejoicing in the heart of God for eternity. It is the way the Church honors the deep interconnectedness of God’s family across time, culture, and history.

And during the whole Communion Rite, we are joined with the whole Communion of Saints, with angels and archangels, with cherubim and seraphim. We are joined with the church on earth and the church in heaven, now divided only by the narrow stream of death. The whole host of heaven crowds the very air we breathe, and all becomes the Kairos of intimacy. Imagine that! That’s what we are about to do in a few minutes. What if we all became truly aware of that reality today?!

Tomorrow we are invited to acknowledge grief in remembrance, gratitude, and hope, as we celebrate the loved ones who are no longer with us. It is a reminder of the finality of death that challenges us to be fully present here and now, and so begin eternal life, that overcoming of time by the now that does not pass away. Yes, in the midst of life, we are in death.  But the Fall Triduum reminds us of a deeper truth: in the midst of death, we are promised life.

I have to admit that when I read the Gospel story assigned for today, my reaction was: “The story of the raising of Lazarus, what?? No! Why?” I think it is one of the strangest and most difficult stories to grasp in Scripture. I find it strange that Jesus takes his time when he first hears of Lazarus’ illness? I find it very strange that he tells his disciples that Lazarus is “asleep,” instead of saying he is dead. And the whole business of bringing Lazarus back to life… weird. Does a person who’s been dead for four days even want to come back? And we never hear about Lazarus again in the Gospel narrative. He virtually disappears after he comes out of the tomb. Talk about mysterious!

And yet, there was a phrase that touched my heart from the beginning and has continued to nag at me during my lectio. A phrase that isn’t strange or mysterious. A phrase I can understand because of its humanity; because of its incarnated nature: “Jesus began to weep.” Perhaps that’s the deepest meaning of this strange story, that grief takes hold of the Word of God incarnate and breaks him down. Jesus, who is the most accurate and fully human revelation of the divine we will ever have, stands at the grave of his friend and cries.

Why does he cry when he knew that Lazarus was about to come back to life?  Why does he cry after intentionally staying away from Bethany during Lazarus’s illness? The why does not matter to me because Jesus’ tears legitimize human grief and negate any form of Christianity that leaves no room for lament. Jesus’ tears honor the complexity of our sorrows and joys. Joy does not cancel out the essential work of grief.    

When I read that Jesus wept, I feel assured that it is okay for my faith to be nuanced. I am assured that it is okay for my expressions of belief and trust to come with emotional baggage. Martha, after all, expresses resentment and reproach at Jesus’s delay, and in the next breath voices her trust in his power. And Mary blames Jesus for Lazarus’ death, but she does so on her knees, in a posture of belief and humility. And Jesus’s face is full of tears when he prays to God and raises his friend from the dead. These are the expressions of faith of the human person fully alive; a faith that embraces the full spectrum of human psychology.

When I read that Jesus cried, I feel assured that it is okay to yearn for life. It is okay to feel a sense of wrongness and injustice in the face of death. It is okay to mourn the loss of vitality and longevity. It is okay to love and cherish the gift of life here and now.

Three years ago, I decided to create an “altar de muertos” in my cell. I have been doing so ever since, including this year. I believe it is a beautiful Mexican tradition. Now, I’m not Mexican. I’m from Puerto Rico, (which is a beautiful island on the Caribbean and not a “floating pile of garbage in the middle of the ocean,”) but I love this tradition which has its origins in pre-hispanic Aztec believes that with time were syncretized with Christian beliefs.

The tradition consists of creating an altar colorfully decorated that has photos of loved ones who have died and where one presents to them offerings of food, flowers, candles and other things. Now, I already have a prayer altar in my cell. As a visual and creative type with, perhaps, some flair for the theatrical, I’ve always benefited from creating a dramatic space with images and objects that inspire and ground my prayer. No, I’m not offering food to the dead since I don’t share those beliefs. All the food and flowers on my altar are artificial. But my “altar de muertos” is something tangible that helps me remember, celebrate, honor and mourn those significant souls who were part of my life and I will never see again in the flesh. Every year, as I get older, more and more people join my “altar de muertos,” reminding me of my own mortality.                         

This year I had the very emotional experience of adding my younger blood brother’s photo to the altar. I didn’t cry when he died in August. I was relieved. My brother had given up on life some years ago and was very unhappy, self-destructing and consumed by alcohol. While the news is always shocking, even when one knows it will come at some point, I saw it as a mercy. I was also trying to hold it together so I could be present for my elderly and frail mother who was inconsolable. But adding his photo to my “altar de muertos” felt so very wrong and devastating. My younger brother was not supposed to die before me. So, I cried, and it was okay, because Jesus cried.

In the Gospel story, it is because Jesus experiences the devastation of death that he recognizes the immediate need to restore life. Can Jesus’ tears provoke us in the same way? What breaks your heart right now? I’m personally heartbroken about what is happening in Ukraine, and Gaza, and Israel. I am heartbroken about the political landscape of this country, which makes it almost unrecognizable from the land I’ve lived in and so loved since I was sixteen years old. I experience this sorrow even as I live in absolute faith and hope that God’s hand is still at work in the world because through his tears, Jesus calls us into the holy vocation of empathy. Sorrow is a powerful catalyst for change, and shared lament can lead to transformation. 

As we take time today and tomorrow to remember, to mourn, and to celebrate those who have gone on before us, may Jesus’s tears be our guide. May his honest expression of sorrow give us the permission and impulse, not only to do the work of grief and healing, but to move with compassion into a world that so much needs our empathy and love right now. May we remember that our journey is not to the grave, but through it. May we remember that the Lord who weeps is also the Lord who resurrects. And may we mourn always in hope. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

 

 

 

 

The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost B - October 27, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 25 B, October 27, 2024

Jeremiah 31:7-9

Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52

No one chooses to be blind. Bartimaeus gives the obvious answer to Jesus’ question when he says: “My teacher, let me see again.” This Gospel holds a universal story that every one of us experiences even if our physical vision is 20/20, because it’s about more than physical seeing or blindness. I think perhaps the deeper question we need to ask ourselves is whether we really want to see.

Do we really want to see the reality of our lives, who we are and who we are not? Do we really want to see the needs of our neighbor or the marginalized? Do we really want to see the injustices around us? Do we really want to see who Jesus is and not just who we want him to be? True seeing is more than simply observing with our physical eyes. It implies relationship and a deeper knowing. Such seeing is not without risk. If we really want to see, then we must be willing to change and be changed. We must be willing to leave behind what is to receive what might be.

Sometimes that risk is too much so we turn a blind eye. This is not a physical but a spiritual condition. For most of us life is neither all seeing nor all blindness. It was that way for Bartimaeus too. Remember, Bartimaeus asks to “see again.” At the end of the story, we are told that he “regained his sight.” He had known darkness, and he had known light. He had vision, and he had been blind. Both are a reality for Bartimaeus and for us.

We can identify our own life when we see his life in three stages. First, Bartimaeus can see, then he is blind, sitting and begging on the roadside. Finally, he regains a new and different way of seeing. This is a pattern of spiritual growth we see throughout the Scriptures. Richard Rohr describes it as Order, Disorder, and Reorder. Every original Order includes an initially threatening Disorder, which morphs into and creates a new Reordering, and we begin all over again. Every one of us has lived this pattern. It’s the Paschal Mystery, a story of life, death, and resurrection. We grow spiritually by passing beyond some perfect Order, through an often painful and seemingly unnecessary Disorder, to an enlightened Reorder.

Jesus, by his life, death, and resurrection, offers us a clear vision of what true life looks like. To the extent we do not share that vision we are blind. As tragic as blindness is, the greater tragedy is when we cannot even recognize that we are blind. Bartimaeus knows he is going nowhere, and his life remains unchanged. Every day he holds out the cloak of his blindness and begs. Like him, we stumble our way through life believing that this is as good as it gets. We’re content to sit by the roadside and beg, letting life pass us by. We can feel stuck, more like a spectator than a participant. How and what we see determine the world we live in and the life we live. At some point all of us sit cloaked in darkness, unable to see.

The darkness fills and covers us. Maybe it’s about exhaustion or indifference. Sometimes it’s the darkness of grief and loss. Sin and guilt blind us to what our life could be. Other times we live in the darkness of fear, anger, or resentment. Doubt and despair can distort our vision. Failures and disappointments darken our world. Maybe the answers and beliefs that once lit our way no longer illuminate. There’s no clarity. We hide in the shadows neither wanting to see nor to be seen. Perhaps the deepest darkness is when we become lost to ourselves, not knowing who we are.

It doesn’t matter what caused Bartimaeus’ blindness. What matters is that he knew that he was blind. He held his blindness before Christ believing and hoping that there was more to who he was and what his life could be. It was out of that knowing, believing, and hoping that he cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” That’s the cry of one who abandons themselves to God. The one who cannot see cries out to be seen. It is that cry that stopped Jesus in his tracks.

“Call him here,” Jesus said. With that calling misery meets compassion. He stands before Jesus who asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?” That is the question for every one of us who have ever sat in darkness. It’s the question Jesus asks us over and over, again. “What do you want me to do for you?” This question offers a turning point, a new beginning. It asks us to look deep within our self, to face what is, and name what we want.

The thing about sitting in darkness is that at the time we can never see what’s coming. The most Bartimaeus could do was to be faithful in his darkness, to not run away from it, but to cry out in hope. And that’s true for us. We are no strangers to the feeling of being depleted with nothing in reserve, when life overwhelms, and we wonder how or if we’ll get by. It’s important for us to reflect on what we have done with that experience, or what that experience has done with us. Those times are a necessary part of our spiritual journey. They are the ways in which we mature and come to ourselves. They are our gateway to fullness of life. I am not suggesting that God causes those times, but that God does not waste them, that God wastes nothing of our lives – not our blindness, not our sitting by the roadside, not our begging, and neither should we.

In Mark’s Gospel the Bartimaeus story immediately precedes the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem. It concludes with this: “Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way” (Mark 10:52). Theologically, Mark is telling us that if we are to follow Jesus on the Way, we all will need new sight, new vision, to see, understand, and follow. What do you want Jesus to do for you today? What is the thing you need today that will open your eyes to see yourself, others, and all of creation as beautiful and holy? What is the thing you need today that will allow you to throw off the cloak of blindness and take you from sitting and begging by the roadside to following Jesus on the Way? +Amen.

The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost B - October 20, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt

The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost, October 20, 2024

Job 38:1-7, (34-41)

• Hebrews 5:1-10
• 
  
• Mark 10:35-45

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

In the name of God, the Creator, the Liberator and the Comforter.

In the gospel according to Mark, we find a three-part cycle repeated three times. 

Three times, Jesus predicts his rejection and his resurrection (8:31; 9:31; 10:33-34). The third time is in the two verses just before today’s gospel passage.

Three times, the Twelve promptly misunderstand or reject Jesus’ self-understanding (8:32-33; 9:32-34; 10:41). In today’s passage, James and John, the sons of Zebedee whom Jesus affectionately nicknamed Boanerges, the sons of thunder, ignore Jesus’ prophecy and proceed to try to get a heavenly kingdom promotion. Talk about narcissism and insensitivity! And that comes from two of Jesus’ closest friends.

Three times, Jesus immediately corrects these mistakes with teaching about genuine discipleship (8:34-9:1; 9:35-40; 10:42-45). In today’s gospel, Jesus insists on the vocation of servant leadership amongst his followers.

The cycle of prophecy, misunderstanding and teaching is repeated three times through the gospel. Mark wants us to know what kind of Messiah Jesus is and to know what following Jesus requires. Humility and serving our neighbors are a good start.

James and John, together with Peter, were Jesus’ closest disciples. Lots of gospel scenes are between the four of them. Did James and John think it earned them special status in the kingdom of heaven?

The Boanerges are falling prey to very human biases here. 

James and John have compared themselves to their fellow disciples and decided that they are above them. They want rank and honor when Jesus will come into his glory. Their focus on self-promotion enables them to conveniently bypass and deny Jesus’ prediction of his passion.

And Jesus alludes to the disciples future suffering by referring to their drinking his cup and undergoing his baptism. He is not directly referring to the future sacraments of the Christian church here. But still that resonance works on us too. He is referring to withstanding resistance, confrontation and aggression unto death from their current domination systems: the Roman empire and the Temple religion.

As a matter of fact, the other disciples instead of reacting to Jesus’ prediction of his suffering and resurrection, react forcefully to James and John’s upmanship. They too, want privilege, or at least to rank ahead of someone else.

Now, do we sometimes compare ourselves with others and decide that we are ahead of them in whatever ranking matters to us? Am I more beautiful, rich, intelligent, able or spiritually developed than those ones over there? Am I not more worthy than those I have made “other” so I may ignore or offend them?

It might be subtle and implicit in our words and actions, but it happens to most of us.

Come to think of it, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, not to mention Moses, might have a claim to sitting on both sides of Jesus in his glory.

As it is, the gospel of Mark will mirror the Boanerges’ request in the account of the crucifixion. Verse 27 of the penultimate chapter of the gospel reads:

“And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left.”

I have a suspicion that no one has precedence over anyone else in the Kingdom of heaven. And that comes to light in Jesus’ patient teaching to the disciples today.

He teaches them for the third time about the importance of humility and service in the life of his followers. He teaches them about servant leadership. And to do that, he contrasts who they need to be to who the Roman overlords are in their domination system.

He is basically disavowing any domination system. He never exercises power over anyone, and he urges the disciples to do as he does. If you must use power, make it power with others, not over others.

Even today, it is important for Christians to identify current domination systems. And once we know the power system we are dealing with, we are to be wary of aspiring to a prominent or convenient place in it. 

How do we serve our brothers and sisters rather than participate in their oppression? Is there anything I want to withhold from others that I do not want withheld from me? Who do I consider OK to dominate and in what way?

Jesus wants us to be slave to all. We are not to be enslaved to any single master, whether it be money, fame or power. We are to seek for all others to rise to the glory of the kingdom of God together with us; no one ahead of the other. And we do it best by lovingly serving them.

Jesus knows this is not always easy and that it is sometimes painful but that need not stop us from perseveringly attempting it. But he nonetheless wants us to offer “agape,” the highest form of love, of charity. He wants us to embody sacrificial love that is unconditional, selfless and persists regardless of circumstances. Whether it be convenient or not.

We may close today’s eucharist with the following dismissal: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” The Lord is present to you in every other being on your way. No one is to be beyond the reach of your love. The journey to loving as Christ is loving is ahead of us.

“Buen camino,” as they say on the way to St James’ shrine in Compostela.

Amen.

The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost B - October 13, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve
The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 23 B, October 13, 2024

• Amos 5:6-7,10-15
• Hebrews 4:12-16
• Mark 10:17-31

Click here for an audio of the sermon

“Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”

Christ has come to inaugurate the way of life, which he calls the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven. He inaugurates through power.  His power is the power of love. He expresses love in the way he invites and liberates; in his surrendering and suffering love.  He does not inaugurate by domination and never uses power over to impose, coerce, or control.  The way of life comes in freedom, or it does not come at all.  His freedom in inviting meets our freedom in responding. Each of us chooses to enter or we do not enter at all.  He calls forth the desire in every human heart for meaning, hope, community, purpose, and promise and reveals that this very desire has its source and end in God.  Being created by God and for God, we discover our true identity, our true home in responding to the invitation to follow the way of life and receive the gift of life, real life.  We bear the divine image and no substitute identity will ever satisfy.  Jesus appeals to our goodness, enlivens our longings, and illuminates the obstacles within and around us on the path to life. The gates are always open to any who will hear the call to repent, be liberated, be unburdened from the weight of attachment to the transitory and the temporal, and come. 

 Christ welcomes so-called “sinners” into the way of life.  In the gospels, they almost always know their need, seek him out.  Many in the out groups seek out Jesus, touch him, call to him, cry to him, interrupt him, get in his way as they discover in him the power to restore their dignity and their hope.  He relieves their pain, reconciles them from their status as outcasts, as unclean and sends them joyfully back into community and connection. For those of us who in some way or at some time have been outsiders or the victims of prejudice and judgment and met by a Christ who loved and accepted us, we know that the power that brought life to the lepers and demon possessed, the prostitutes and tax collectors, can and does bring power today in the hearts of so many who experience harm.

The gospels also include another kind of conversion story.  The so-called “insiders” are invited into the way of life as well.  In the religious culture of Jesus’ day, the religious elites, the rich, those with positions of power thought of themselves and were believed to be blessed by God - they had arrived into the realm of the “converted” because they were not “sinners” or “unclean”.  These are often, but not always, those who are scandalized, confused, or, because he represents a threat, oppose Jesus.  For Jesus, “no” is an answer. Today’s gospel is a story from this second group.  This man sees the world through the lens of his status and wealth. Eternal life is a possession like all my other possessions and I can obtain it like I have obtained all my other possessions - by some act, or price, some access to improving my insider status.  He is not in need of the same kind of compassionate, healing touch that the leper or demon-possessed need. His pain is more in his heart than on his skin.  His isolation is more spiritual than social.  His sense of emptiness hidden and buried under the illusions that his possessions can satisfy.  Yet, even if the awareness is only a glimmer, the ache of dissatisfaction only a faint echo that appears in the silence of the night, he still desires real life.  The desire is inescapable, relentless, haunting the edges of his storehouses and treasure chests, refusing to leave him alone.  He is in need. He has money. He will satisfy his need like he has satisfied every other need. Jesus surprises him. Jesus’ response is about to send him away in shock and grief.  

Entrance to life costs.  The kingdom exacts a price.  In our myriad delusions about our identities and our own programs for individual happiness, we keep ourselves outside, resist life.  We may believe we desire life, but not act in ways that lead to life.  Jesus presents no utopian vision of instant bliss. The way to the kingdom is a narrow, difficult, and winding way.  We may seek to avoid the difficulty and search for an easy road, for cheap grace. We may desire entry through power or status, money or education.  We may rely on seeking moral goodness or conformity to social norms of purity for special access.  These are dead ends that seduce us into believing we have capacities we do not actually have, means to negotiate what we want at a sale price.  But Christ in his grace brokers no shortcuts, no exceptions, no earning or deserving our way in by what we have or do.  The way to life is not a philosophy, an ethic, or the accumulation of good deeds. It is surrender, emptying, death and resurrection. Whatever I bring with me to the entrance to life to get me in are the very things I must leave in order to be made ready for entrance.  Entry is a continual process.  I am always only beginning to enter the kingdom - never arriving, never possessing its fullness in this age.  Therefore the way to life is a scandal, a crisis, and a gift. The crisis is to surrender whatever appears as essential to meaning in order to receive the true gift which is the actual fulfillment of meaning.  We are all too eager to fixate on the instant, the easy. Jesus warns that these are illusions which in fact are obstacles to the most valuable way of being, obstacles to real life.

As modern listeners the temptation is often to hear the text in order to get an answer or to follow an instruction - bridge the meaning into our world by reducing the story into mere moralisms, yet more performing and achieving and being good. Such a response misses the deeper truth.  Life is discovered not in having, but in belonging. And we cannot be attached to anything and receive the gift of belonging at the same time.  Jesus says, “It is you I want for myself, not anything you may accomplish. I will not rest until all of you is enlivened by love and grace and you abide in the fullness of your glory as beloved sons and daughters made in God’s image.” We enter life by allowing the burning away of all that cannot enter, until we walk through with empty hands, claiming no rights, hiding nothing.  It is precisely by owning up to and inhabiting our void that we are offering ourselves up to God’s mercy. The invitation to this man and to us is what Eugene Peterson calls a centered, submissive way of life.  He writes,

“Americans in general have little tolerance for a centering way of life that is submissive to the conditions in which growth takes place: quiet, obscure, patient, not subject to human control and management. The church is uneasy in these conditions. Typically it adapts itself to the prevailing American culture and is soon indistinguishable from that culture: talkative, noisy, busy, controlling, image-conscious.” 

So this other kind of conversion, the conversion of those of us who enjoy some level of possession and status and goodness, is to be utterly stripped, dispossessed, emptied, made void, plunged into the terrifying emptiness, consumed by God’s love, offered up to God’s mercy, and then given away. Self-sufficiency, the impulse to dominate, hoard, defend, control all die on the cross with Christ.  Then the seeds of life - searching for good, receptive soil in which to root - will appear green and full. We will become generous, free, receptive people so that we might enjoy the riches of God’s goodness in God’s good world more abundantly.  Then we will receive good things as gifts to be shared. 

“Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age…and in the age to come eternal life.” Amen.

The Anniversary of the Dedication of the Monastic Church of Saint Augustine

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Wesley Borden

The Anniversary of the Dedication of the Monastic Church

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

Today we celebrate the anniversary of the dedication of this church – and we could do no better than to hear again the words of Jacob from the book of Genesis... “How awesome is this place! It is none other than the house of God and gate of heaven.” Stirring and powerful words... 
Of course, back when this church was dedicated those words would have read a little differently, as you may have noticed in the Sequence Hymn penned by Isaac Watts: how awful is this place... That conjures a somewhat different experience... and even before it was awesome or awful, the King James translation used the word “dreadful” as in “How dreadful is this place...” That does not seem like the basis for much of a celebration...  
In fact, through the awesome and awful miracle of Google, I can tell you that this place is awesome and awful... fearful, terrifying, sacred, terrible, holy, worshipful and more. Translators clearly struggle to find just the right word. How challenging is this place...  
The problem is not with the translators. It's not that they have failed to find the right word. The problem is that a single word is not enough. All these various words bring particular insights in describing this place – it is awesome and dreadful, terrible and holy. It is, after all, the house of God – who is beyond description and comprehension. How could one word be enough? 
Our Orthodox brothers and sisters like to refer to God in contradictions – a way of acknowledging that human language, human comprehension, is never adequate to fully express or comprehend God.  
Of course, a story involving Jacob must, like Jacob, be conflicted. Jacob has, after all, lied his way into his position – he impersonated Esau his brother to steal Esau’s rightful inheritance. Jacob is a fraud and a cheat. He has good reason to be fearful in the presence of God... And yet, Jacob will become Israel – the progenitor and namesake of God’s chosen people. Jacob is a very deeply flawed person. Yet he is the foundation of Israel, and by extension a foundation stone of Christianity. The story we call to mind to celebrate this building is not a simple, easy story.  
For more than a century people, specifically Monkish sorts of people, have prayed in this awful place. I like numbers, so I had to do some calculations... I calculate that, over that time, perhaps one hundred and ninety thousand hours of worship and prayer have been offered in this terrible place. That is something like fourteen continuous years of prayer and praise... how sacred is this place... 
When we think of the house of God, the gate of heaven, we must think of Jesus. In today's Gospel Jesus is quite angry that God's house is turned into a den of thieves. We could comfort ourselves by reminding ourselves that Jesus has in mind the folks nestled around the temple in Jerusalem – so that lets us off the hook... except it doesn't, any more than it lets Jacob off the hook. If we think God is confined to just the inside of that house, or this house, or any house, we are wrong. God’s house is not just this place, not just this neighborhood, not just this entire planet. God’s house is all of God’s creation and we are stewards of God’s house. 
Can we be proud of our stewardship... of how our world is functioning today? Do we live in a land where peace and justice flow like a mighty river? Or even trickle like a little stream... How frightening is this place because here we must answer to God...   
Sometimes I wonder at Jesus walking among us and visiting the great and marvelous edifices we have built just for him... the cathedrals and shrines and sprawling mega-churches, and yes, monasteries with their chapels... And I hear Jesus saying, “its lovely, but what is it?”  
There is also a darker history we must not forget... a history of exclusion – when in this country, for example, some churches were built with special galleries so that black people could be kept away from white people... in Jesus' name. Or when our industrial scale greed allows us to despoil much of the planet destroying the homes of countless of God’s creatures... in Jesus’ name.  
When this church was built it had many steps... you could not enter without facing a barrage of steps, of physical barriers... those who had physical disabilities would have struggled mightily to enter; or more likely would have just stayed away... been excluded. But now, starting with the vision of Br Timothy and others over decades and with great effort and expense, we are barrier free so that all are not just welcome but can actually enter. How accessible is this place... (no, I didn't find that in any known translation, but it could be).  
This minster, this monastery church is certainly worthy of honor and praise. It is a very prayerful place. But it is not the stones and timber, the parging and paint, the crosses and icons that make it holy. It isn't even the altar standing in the east. This place is holy because this is where we gather to praise God.  
Two thousand years ago in Bethlehem a group of shepherds gathered to make a stable holy by greeting Jesus, praising God in heaven, and praying for peace on earth. How awesome, and how fertile, how smelly, how humble was that place.  
This place is certainly less smelly and less humble... but that doesn’t make it more awesome. There is no place in which God does not make a home, an awesome, awful, wonderful, and terrifying home. 
In this awesome and awful, dreadful and sacred, frightening and accessible place, we do just what those shepherds did – nothing more and nothing less. We meet Jesus. We pray glory to God in the highest. And having met Jesus – having become one flesh with Jesus in the mystery of the Eucharist – we are called go forth from this holy place to make peace on earth – just like those shepherds... 
God is present in the place, but God is not confined to it, or any of the houses we build... God is just as surely present in Sing Sing Prison, a little way down the Hudson from here. God is also surely present in the Manhattan Psychiatric Center which started its life as Blackwell’s Island Lunatic Asylum, still further down the river. God is not just present in the beautiful places we create to honor God. God is present in all places – the beautiful and the wretched – the places we would feel better if God never saw... 
London’s infamous Bedlam Hospital, a place so horrendous that it gave its name to our language to mean chaos, was not actually named Bedlam. It was Bethlehem Royal Hospital. That wild and notorious hospital was named for the place where God took on human flesh and entered our world. How appropriate – because Jesus entered a world that was more bedlam than beauty.  
We remember that Jesus always had special affection for those furthest on the margin – for lepers, for prostitutes, for prisoners, for lunatics... The example of Jesus is one of incredible, reckless, endless love... for everyone... As followers of Jesus, we are called to that same love for all of God’s creation. 
We might think of this church, on its dedication anniversary, not so much as God’s house as God’s womb – a womb where we can be reformed (born again, if you will)... a womb where we can be nurtured ever more into God’s likeness, where we can learn to love as God loves. It is a tall order, but God is patient and infinitely forgiving. So, we pray with those shepherds: glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth. 
And as we celebrate the dedication of this church, we call to mind the founding of the whole church in all forms, in all places, and at all times. The foundation of God’s Church is not made of stone, but rather of that incredible, reckless, boundless love to which Jesus calls us. How awesome is this place! It is none other than the house of God and gate of heaven. 

Saint Michael and All Angels, September 29, 2024

 Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert Leo Sevensky

Saint Michael and All Angels, September 29, 2024

• Genesis 28:10-17
• Revelation 12:7-12
• John 1:47-51

Click here for an audio of the sermon

We don't get to preach all that often here at Holy Cross Monastery.  With seven or eight or more brothers preaching on Sundays and major feasts, opportunities are limited. But here I am again assigned to preach on this feast of Saint Michael and all Angels.  It turns out that I've preached on this feast at least three times in the last decade or so. What more is there to say? I've looked at all our past sermons for this feast which are on our monastery website, including three by me, and all these sermons are interesting and provocative. It's very tempting to want to lift one and just read it.  And that would be fine…except that was then and this is now. The world has changed and we have changed, and once again we have to ask what angels have to do with us today.

Probably most of us aren’t aware of it, but we are in what is called in church circles the Season of Creation. This is an annual observance for Christians endorsed by the Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarch and Pope Francis and the Archbishop of Canterbury, the World Council of Churches and many other church bodies inviting us to focus our attention on the created order and the many environmental crises we face, particularly the climate crisis, and to reflect on what it means for us as people of faith to care for creation. The observance began on September 1st, which is the first day of the church year for the Eastern Orthodox Christians, and concludes this Friday on the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi who for us Western Christians--indeed for all Christians--draws our hearts and minds to reflect upon our embeddedness in creation.

The theme for this year’s Season of Creation is “To hope and act with Creation.”   The brief official publicity for this year’s observance reads:

“In the letter of Paul the apostle to the Romans, the biblical image pictures the Earth as a Mother, groaning as in childbirth (Rom 8:22). Francis of Assisi understood this when he referred to the Earth as our sister and our mother in his Canticle of Creatures. The times we live in show that we are not relating to the Earth as a gift from our Creator, but rather as a resource to be used.

 

“And yet, there is hope and the expectation for a better future. To hope in a biblical context does not mean to stand still and quiet, but rather groaning, crying, and actively striving for new life amidst the struggles. Just as in childbirth, we go through a period of intense pain, but new life springs forth.”

 

I admit that I have been slow to catch the import of all this while many of our brothers and sisters, particularly the younger ones, have been painfully aware of how we have abused and damaged our mother earth and how that abuse and damage threatens our own existence, the existence of a people made in the image of God. For me it has been the reality of climate change which impacting us so directly that is bringing me and many others to awareness, but of course the issues go beyond climate.  Maybe my reluctance has something to do with what Al Gore called an inconvenient truth: that as we become aware, we realize sooner or later-- some of us much later--that we must act and that this will mean change, change in the way we live, change in the way we consume, change in the way we relate to each other and to the whole created order. Yes, in our foundational story we are given stewardship of the world. But stewardship does not mean exploitation, especially not for personal gain. Nor can it be bought at the expense of distant and powerless others.  It means rather a gentle tending with mutual respect and the sharing of burdens.

There is so much to be done in this arena, and the threats that we face are so grave, that it is easy to lose hope, to feel that that we simply can't make the necessary adjustments to our lives, nor can we convince those who wield power to make those hard and costly choices. And we labor as if it were all up to us; that we must bear this burden alone, and that there is no help outside of us. It is of course accurate to say that the demands and the responsibilities are very great, and we must, each of us, begin to come to terms with them. But we are not alone in this. And here's where the angels come in.

Whatever they are, the angels represent powers greater than ourselves who work for good, who defend and protect, who serve, who promote the divine purpose, furthering God’s dream not simply for us but and for the entire universe. The angels fight for right, they are hidden messengers who both warn and encourage, who seek the good of God's creation. And they are with us in this emerging task of responsible stewardship, a task which oftentimes seems impossible. Their message to us is: “This is possible. And we are there to help.”

Over the last weeks we have been reading the Book of Job at morning prayer. There's a wonderful passage towards the end where God speaks to Job out of a whirlwind and asks: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?  Tell me if you have understanding. …On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (Job 38:4-7) These morning stars, these heavenly beings, have long been understood to be angels who comprise a kind of chorus encouraging God on in the primal process of creation. I like to think that they have a similar role to play today in overseeing that same creation, making sure that we don't mess it up hopelessly, that we don’t make an end of it or destroy it and ourselves. Perhaps today our invitation is to call on the angels to help us in the work creation care, calling on their aid as we begin, however haltingly, to hope and act with Creation and not over against it. That in a nutshell is my message for the feast of Saint Michael and all Angels in this year of our Lord 2024. 

I conclude with two quotations which I find helpful. The first is from the Anglican Church of Canada’s resource for feast days titled For All the Saints. It says of today’s feast:

Many good and faithful Christians find it difficult to accept the existence of angels; for them, angels have no more reality in fact than unicorns, griffins, or the phoenix. It may be true that the existence of angels is not one of the things in which Christians must believe if they want to be saved. Yet whenever Christians say the Nicene Creed, they confess that God has created “all that is, seen and unseen.” Entertaining the possibility of angels may be one way of acknowledging the sheer diversity of life, visible and invisible, that God has ordained in creation.

The second quote is a little grittier. It comes from the conclusion of a sermon our late beloved Brother Andrew Colquhoun preached here in 2011 on this very feast. Never one to mince words, Andrew says:

“Maybe I’m verging too far on superstition.

“But I don’t care. If you don’t believe in the angels, then for Christ’s sake become one.  Become a healer, and a proclaimer; become a warrior against hunger and hopelessness and evil.  Be a Light Bearer in the darkness around us.

“Do that for Love’s sake and believe me, you will find yourself on the side of the Angels…you will be Messengers of God, bearers of good tidings, protectors and lovers of God and God’s people. And the angels will rejoice!

“That’s probably good enough!”

You bet it is, Andrew. You bet it is.