Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Friday, July 11, 2025
The Feast of Saint Benedict, July 11, 2025
Sunday, May 25, 2025
The Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 25, 2025
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Wednesday, March 5, 2025
Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Tuesday, February 18, 2025
The Initial Profession of the Monastic Vow of Br. Jacob Anthony Letchworth, OHC - February 18, 2025
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
- 1 Samuel 3:1-11
- 1 Corinthians 1:22-31
- Matthew 6:24-27
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Wednesday, January 1, 2025
The Holy Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, January 1, 2025
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
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Friday, November 1, 2024
All Saints' Day, November 1, 2024
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
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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+
Sunday, August 4, 2024
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost B - August 4, 2024
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
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Friday, March 29, 2024
Maundy Thursday - March 28, 2024
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
- Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
- 1 Corinthians 11:23-26
- Luke 22:14-30
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The three readings tonight have three common themes: gathering, a common meal and remembrance. In the reading from the Book of Exodus, we hear instructions about gathering for the Passover meal. It ends with the injunction: “This day shall be a day of remembrance for you.” In the second reading from the First Letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians we hear how, on the night he was betrayed, Jesus gathered his disciples for a meal, offered his body and blood and said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” The reading from Saint Luke’s Gospel offers us one of the versions of what happened on that night when Jesus was betrayed. There was gathering and a common meal, and Jesus asking his disciples to continue to do so in remembrance of him.In this sense remembrance is not simply about recalling or returning or recreating the past. Remembrance is an active process of bringing an event from the past into the present moment, that it may have a continuing effect and impact on our lives. There is something about the human condition that hungers for remembrance because remembrance feeds and nourishes life.
So here we are, at the beginning of these most holy days of remembrance in the Christian tradition. In many ways the stories of these holy days tell themselves. It had felt almost superfluous to say anymore. That is until something caught my attention this last Palm Sunday of the Passion during the Liturgy of the Palms, which here we do in Pilgrim Hall. It was the collect. You know how you can hear something a hundred times, and still, on one occasion, hear something in it you feel you have never heard before. That was my experience this last Sunday. The collect prays: “Assist us mercifully with your help, O Lord God of our salvation, that we may enter with joy upon the contemplation of those mighty acts, whereby you have given us life and immortality: through Jesus Christ our Lord.” “That we may enter with joy.” Now, I have often wished people a blessed or a meaningful Holy Week. But it has never occurred to me to wish anyone a joyous Holy Week. So, I’ve been reflecting on that quite a bit ever since. Why are we to enter with joy into a week of fear, betrayal, darkness, emptiness, pain, and violence? The answer is, of course, because the story does not end there.
Judas will betray him. The other disciples will not keep awake and wait with him as he asks them to do. Peter, despite his promises, will deny him. So, Jesus will die because he will be betrayed, deserted, and denied by his followers.
But Jesus will also die because of the scheming of his enemies. His ever-escalating conflict with the powerful will reach its final stage. The chief priests and the scribes have been looking for an opportunity to kill him. His encounter with Pilate will prove that empire is more interested in keeping peace and order, than pursuing justice. So, Jesus will die because his message and his way of being has provoked his powerful enemies.
But Jesus will also die because of his self-giving love. The same Jesus who at the beginning of the gospel account performs remarkable healings, feedings, exorcisms, and authoritative teachings will now be placed under arrest, mocked, beaten and crucified. But Jesus’ life will not be taken from him. Oh no, it will be given by him. That’s the meaning of tonight’s Gospel lesson from Saint Luke. His offering of bread and wine signifies the offering of his own body and blood, and it is firmly stated when he says he came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life in obedience to the one he called “Abba”. So, Jesus died because he chose to give his life for others.
And, so, on these most holy days we are invited to experience the interplay that takes us from celebration to desolation, from joy to sorrow, from affirmation to betrayal. It is the interplay that reminds us of our inability to commit ourselves fully to the will of God, especially when our self-interest is at stake. It is the interplay that reminds us that those who claim to follow Jesus are capable of betrayal. It is the interplay that warns us against the paranoid violence of empire, the greed of corrupt governments, and the dangers of self-interest among the religious elite.
The same crowd who shouted “Hosanna” last Sunday will shout “crucify him” tomorrow, and we are that crowd. We cannot distance ourselves from the shouts of praise or the shouts of insults and rage. And the unfathomable thing is that we, who through our actions shout “Hosanna, and then “Crucify him”, can still come to the table time and time again and in the breaking of bread meet Jesus, who suffered, so that when we are suffering we know God is with us through our suffering. We, who through our actions shout “Hosanna, and then “Crucify him”, can still come to the table time and time again and in the breaking of bread meet Jesus, who was utterly alone toward the end of the story, so that when we feel alone we know God is with us in our aloneness. We, who through our actions shout “Hosanna, and then “Crucify him”, can still come to the table time and time again and in the breaking of bread meet Jesus, who cried out in despair, so that when we feel ready to give up, we know that God holds onto us. We, who through our actions shout “Hosanna, and then “Crucify him”, can still come to the table time and time again and in the breaking of bread meet Jesus, who died, so that we know God understands death, and the fear of death, and reminds us that death does not have the last word. We, who through our actions shout “Hosanna, and then “Crucify him”, can still come to the table time and time again and in the breaking of bread meet Jesus, who meets us exactly where we are, just the way we are, with open arms.
And why? Because we are known by God, whose love is the only unconditional love we will ever have; a love that surpasses all understanding. We are known by God, who came into humanity in the form of Jesus and humbled himself, and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross, so that we might live in hope and courage, and love. Can we comprehend it? We don’t have to. All we need to do is enter with joy into the mystery, ponder it, bear witness to it, proclaim it, and submit ourselves to it.
So let us joyfully gather in remembrance and be fed by the stories of those mighty acts of divine love so that they wash over us, break our hearts open, and become our own, because we are people of the resurrection. We know that these coming days will take us into darkness and despair, but on Sunday that Easter fire will be kindled, and we will hear the Exsultet. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+
Wednesday, February 28, 2024
The Initial Profession of the Monastic Vow of Br. Bruno Marc Santana OHC
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Click here for an audio of the sermon
INITIAL PROFESSION OF THE BENEDICTINE MONASTIC VOW
Holy Cross Monastery
Exodus 3:1-10 Colossians 3:12-17 Matthew 4:18-24
Before initial profession Brothers are given the opportunity to request the Gospel they would like read at the profession. I have to admit that when I received Marc’s request and read it, I thought: “Oh, great, the fish for people thing!” I don’t particularly care for fishing so, it is difficult for me to connect to Jesus’s invitation to “fish for people.” I even find the very idea off-putting. It doesn’t help that this story about Jesus calling his disciples is often interpreted as fishing for lost souls, doomed to hellfire. “Hooking” them, and getting them to church to confess Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior, so they can be saved from damnation. Nevertheless, there is much in this Gospel story that relates to the call to the monastic vocation, and relates directly to you, Marc, and what you are about to do.
In a few moments, you will profess and sign the threefold Benedictine vow of obedience, stability, and conversion of your ways to the monastic way of life. It is one vow that has three parts that are interwoven in such a way that each is absolutely necessary for the other two. One cannot really live Benedictine monastic life with authenticity if we are avoiding any part of the vow. You will promise to live the vow for a period of three years. The vow has to do with three core Benedictine values. The first one is about listening intently and learning to hear how God speaks to us even through the voice of your fallible brothers. The second one is about not running away when the going gets tough. And the third has to do with being open to change and transformation.
Obedience is easy to talk about and definitely, the most difficult part of the vow to live. Everyone in formation has heard me, many times, refer to the excellent explanation about monastic obedience found in the Contemporary Reading of the Rule of the Order of the Holy Cross written by our Brother Robert Leo Sevensky. It is the most complete, realistic, honest, and grounded description of monastic obedience I know. It reads:
“While none of us is called to become an automaton, mindlessly conforming ourselves to the practices of the community or the commands of those in authority, we must be careful not to avoid the hard work of transformation that comes from holy obedience. We are to strive to hear God’s voice calling to us through such practices and commands and to give them always the benefit of the doubt, the best possible interpretation, and our willing conformity, especially when it is not absolutely clear that another course of action would be preferable. This does not, of course, rule out consultation, communal consideration, or expert advice. In the end, however, our cooperation and support, even under protest, is part of the gift of ourselves. We will find it helpful in this regard to cultivate a sense of the limitations of our knowledge of even outward matters, and to treasure up instances in which our assured judgement has proved wrong.”
So monastic obedience is not about blind compliance and conformity so much as it is about deeply listening and cooperating with those in authority so they can fulfill their leadership role with dignity and integrity. We must bring our intellect to our obedience because a community of followers who want a list of dos and don’ts to follow mindlessly is not a healthy community. Consultation, communal consideration, and expert advice can be part of the experience because we must approach obedience as psychologically healthy adults who are fully engaged in the life and know how to use their brains. Notice how in the Gospel story Jesus engages his first disciples’ intellect. What metaphor would make more sense to four fishermen than the metaphor of fishing for people? They would have known from years of experience the patience, resilience, intuition, and artistry that fishing requires. They would have known about the tools of the trade, and about the life-and-death importance of timing, humility, and discretion. So, Jesus does not call his disciples to leave their experience and intelligence behind, but to bring the very best of their core selves forward. The call is for them to become more fully and freely who God made them to be.
Bringing the very best of our core selves forward is what guaranties that we will be able to engage in healthy monastic stability. Monastic stability means accepting this particular community and Order as our way to God. For Saint Benedict, community is not just the place where we seek God, but the very means by which we find God. Living in community is not simply about cohabitating, or being fused in unhealthy ways, but about being self-differentiated as we strive to stay connected. The entire community is involved in our monastic stability. This involvement is most crucial when we face the inevitable difficult times of our vocation because it is the support of the community that carries us through. It is a common mistake to think that having a crisis means that we may not have a monastic vocation after all. Vowing Benedictine monastic stability means that facing crisis is part of the monastic way of life. As our Brother Randy has said: “Crisis is often a prelude to some kind of deeper growth.”
And finally, conversion to the monastic way of life calls for continuous transformation into Christ. As monks we are always in a state of becoming and in the process of conversion at deeper and deeper levels. In the Gospel story, Jesus does not invite Simon, Andrew, James, and John to abandon who they are, but to become their most authentic selves. He invites them to live into the fullness of the image of God with which they were born. Monks are not called to become self-annihilating abstracts. God prizes our intellects, our memories, our backgrounds, our educations, and our skills. Everything we offer up to God is multiplied, shaped, and brought to fruition. So for me, the operative statement in this Gospel story is “I will make you”.
Jesus cultivates, deepens, and perfects who God created us to be. Conversion of our ways to the monastic way of life is directly connected to Jesus’s promise to “make us,” and it is about nurturing who we truly are, not about severing us from all we love. It is about gentleness and respect, not about violence and coercion. It is a promise that when we dare to let go, the things we relinquish are transformed and enlivened in ways we could not have imagined on our own. The older I get, the more I have conversations with discerners, and the more I work with people in formation, the more I am convinced that God is gentler with us than we are with ourselves. Spiritual transformation is not just about renunciation. Resurrection, and abundant life are also part of it.
So, dear Marc, you could not have known, two and a half years ago, when you participated in the online “Come and See” we hosted during the pandemic, that you would be here today about to make your initial profession. It has been a blessing for me to accompany you during the past two and half years, first as an inquirer and aspirant, and then as a postulant and novice. You have brought a joyful and energetic presence to our community, and a sense of appreciation of and gratitude for aspects of the life that the rest of us often take for granted. You will continue to have some joyful days, as well as some painful days. There will be some boring days and plenty of ordinary days. You will definitely have some challenges ahead. Remember you are not on this journey alone. We are all in this together. Constantly opening ourselves to others is a vulnerable choice because it means that we will inevitably get hurt by them at times, but the opposite is also true. In community we can experience love at a deep, soulful and trusting level.
The Benedictine Vow you are about to profess is your promise to live the Religious life in a certain way. But perhaps it would benefit you and all of us to think about it rather as consenting to a promise from God to us. The desire for Religious life is about grace. God calls us and God gives us the ability to follow, and we follow because we cannot take our eyes off the one who calls us. God interests us more than anything else in our lives. And that is, I believe, is Gospel indeed- good news! I wish you every blessing in your vocation. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+