Showing posts with label Josép Martinez-Cubero. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Josép Martinez-Cubero. Show all posts

Friday, July 11, 2025

The Feast of Saint Benedict, July 11, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Feast of Saint Benedict, July 11, 2025

Proverbs 2:1-10      
Acts 2:42-47      
Luke 14:27-33



Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Benedict, the father of Western monasticism, who is most known for his rule, “The Rule of Saint Benedict”. Most of what we know about him comes from the second book of the Dialogues of Pope Gregory the Great. The literary genre of The Dialogues was widespread in the middle ages and called “Exemplum” (example or model). These were short stories often using reworked biblical passages and other stories to convey certain truths about the protagonist’s virtues as a way of teaching and motivating. Reading The Life and Miracles of Saint Benedict with our postmodern minds renders it absolutely useless. But a careful reading that digs deeply and creates a metaphorical interpretation can give meaning to our spiritual journey by showing us Benedict the human. Benedict was not born our holy father Benedict. He was a human being who was vulnerable, broken, and weak. He went through periods of temptation, challenges, growth, development, and also setbacks. His was a journey that serves as a model of these periods in our own lives.

Benedict was born around 480 AD to a noble family in Nursia, Italy. He seems to have been deeply religious from an early age. Having completed his primary studies, he was sent to Rome to study, presumably by a demanding father with very strong expectations that he would acquire a good education. His mother, good noble mother that she was, sent him with his childhood nurse as his servant. In Rome, however, Benedict found all manner of moral corruption and excess living and was turned off by it. Was this unique to Rome at a specific time in history? Certainly not. We all live in a world that’s godless and full of moral corruption. Just turn on the news and hear about the last presidential executive order, or the last bill passed by congress to give the very rich more money while so many can’t make ends meet and others suffer hunger, in such a wealthy country. Absolute moral degradation.

And as is often the case, it is this disheartening experience that occasions Benedict’s monastic vocation and the process of detachment necessary to gain self-knowledge and seek God alone. To do so honestly means he has to let go of family expectations and the financial security that comes with it. He renounces his father’s inheritance and begins a vulnerable stage in his life, mostly. He still has his nurse, who goes with him when he decides to leave Rome and travel to Affile, at the foot of a mountain. After some time and a series of events it is clear the nurse represents a maternal attachment of which Benedict decides he needs to let go. But instead of courageously facing his nurse and telling her he needs to be without her, he secretly escapes to Subiaco, about 10 miles away, and leaves her there alone. Not very nice, Benny! So, we are beginning to see a bit of a pattern here. First fleeing from the city and his family, and now secretly fleeing from his childhood nurse. But in God’s economy everything is put to good use. If we are sincere about our desire to live in God’s Reign, God will transform our shortcomings and weakness of character. Benedict will eventually come to champion the practice of stability as a spiritual discipline that fosters inner strength, resilience, not running away, but staying put and facing the challenges and joys of life by relying on God's grace and presence, even in the midst of difficulties.

In Subiaco, he lives in a cave as a hermit for three years, very much in the manner of a tradition he would have been very familiar with- that of the desert elders of Egypt, Palestine and Syria. Romanus, a monk from a nearby monastery, meets him on the way, hears about his desire, clothes him in the habit and serves as his formator, sometimes even breaking the rules of his own monastery, as we formators are known to do at times, in order to provide his novice what he needs. From his monastery, which was at a higher altitude than Benedict’s cave, he would tie some bread for food, and a little bell to the end of a long rope and lower it over the cliff. The little bell would let Benedict know when the bread was there without interrupting his solitude.

The story tells us that one day, as the bread was being lowered, the “ancient enemy of humankind,” threw a stone at the bell and broke it. Who is this “ancient enemy of humankind”? The most obvious answer would be the devil! But Benedict went to a cave to acquire self-knowledge and to do that he has to confront his own demons. The demons most commonly encountered at the beginning of monastic life tend to be those of rigidity, extremism, and control, and they can lead us to anger, self-absorption and the illusion that we need no help from anyone, because, well, leave me alone. I know what I know, and I know what I think is right. Benedict is his own enemy of humankind.

But face his demons Benedict did. He struggled with loneliness, and temptation, and after giving in to the persuasion of an entire community of monks who begged him to be their abbot after their abbot had died, his very severe leadership almost got him killed. They tried to poison him. Not to excuse the behavior of those crazy monks- very bad! Bad monks! But this and other stories show us a fallible human being who through perseverance came to be known as truly holy.

Benedict founded twelve monasteries in Subiaco before moving southward to Monte Cassino, where he built a bigger monastery and wrote his Rule. After his years of solitude, he had renewed his contacts with the Roman clergy and scholars and had access to all the main Christian monastic texts written before him. Benedict’s Rule is heavily influenced by the writings of John Cassian, another monk before his time, who is noted for his role in bringing the ideas and practices of Christian monasticism from the East to the early medieval West. The Rule also shows to have been mostly the editing and reworking of an earlier and very severe monastic rule called “The Rule of the Master”. 

What Benedict adds, omits, rearranges, and revises from The Rule of the Master shows a remarkable mastery of right measure, and discretion. The Rule says we should eat, but not too much. We can drink but not too much. We have to sleep, but not too much. You must work, but not too much. Benedict even regulates the times for prayer, so there has to be an end, and then you work or study. More than a systematic collection of regulations, the Rule of Saint Benedict is more about how to live in community in the love of Christ so that all are treated equally as beloved children of God. It is a reflection steeped in Scripture that guides us through a human journey into the heart of God. It calls for a community where all have the same access to books for their learning; a community where all are offered the same adequate amount of food and drink; a community where all have a voice, even the newest members. It sadly sounds like an ideal that could make many political and religious leaders of our day very uncomfortable. 

The longest chapter of Benedict’s Rule is on the subject of humility- quite a countercultural concept in today’s world where self-promotion and competition are so praised, a sense of entitlement seems to reign supreme. But true humility is not weakness, but a sign of strength, self-awareness, and openness to growth. It requires radical self-honesty, and a total acceptance of who we are with all our unchangeable past, our strengths, weaknesses, successes, and failures. It requires that we surrender and learn to love those parts about ourselves that we think of as unlovable so that our capacity to love can widen. The humble is able to respect the dignity of every human being because the humble knows we are all in need of mercy daily. The humble knows that calling out evil is an act of love, but we must do so without engaging in verbal or social violence. It is only through humility that we can ground ourselves in our true identity as people who are called to overcome evil with good.

The Benedictine call then is to inner transformation and deeper relationship with God. It’s a call to move beyond the superficial to becoming more and more sober so we can see what really is, and approach life with balance, mindfulness, and awareness of our actions and their impact on others. We do this in community, working, praying, obeying, rejoicing, and every day trying again to mirror Jesus’ own life and teachings. And we do it with the confidence that God, who shatters our expectations, and surpasses our understanding, only desires for us to evolve into the fullness of the image in which we are made. Our Holy Father Benedict, pray for us. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre y del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Sunday, May 25, 2025

The Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 25, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 25, 2025

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” What exactly is this peace that Jesus gives?  We get a clue in Saint Paul’s letter to the Philippians, where he describes the peace of God as the peace that surpasses all understanding. 

For the last three weeks the lectionary has taken us back to some of Jesus’s teachings prior to his crucifixion and resurrection. The focus has been on how the disciples would live and witness to Jesus after Jesus was no longer with them in the flesh. The Lectionary is preparing us for the Feast of the Ascension, which is later this week, as well as the Day of Pentecost with the receiving of the Holy Spirit. Today’s Gospel passage comes from the Farewell Discourse of Jesus at the Last Supper, right before his betrayal, crucifixion and death. 

The words of the discourse are intended as encouragement, concluding with a solemn farewell bestowing peace on Jesus’ disciples. The Greek word for peace translates the Hebrew “shalom”.  “Shalom” is more than absence of conflict. It includes total well-being for people and for society. Shalom is characterized by wholeness, healing, abundance, concord, reconciliation, social harmony, and spiritual and physical health.  

In popular first century understanding, the messiah was to be a more or less political figure with great military ability. The messiah would be like King David, who ousted Israel's enemies and ushered in a Golden Age. Author and Professor of Religious Studies Wes Howard-Brook wrote:
“If the messiah was supposed to be a military ‘peacemaker’ like David and Solomon, then Jesus certainly failed in the mission. But Jesus' peace does not end war directly; rather, it allows one to live through it without succumbing to the temptation to live according to its own logic and necessities.”

The peace of Jesus, peace without violence, is peace "not as the world gives." It is a state of the soul which cannot be compared with anything else and it is to be understood as something that goes beyond feeling. Jesus tells his disciples to not let their hearts be troubled. When we think of the heart, we tend to think of emotions and feelings. But the heart hasn’t always been thought of as the source of feelings and emotions. 

In the 4th century BC, the Greek philosopher Aristotle identified the heart as the seat of intelligence. He had observed that the heart is the first organ formed in the embryo of chicken eggs, so he concluded that the heart must be vital for life itself and our ability to think. All the other organs simply existed to serve the heart. In Jesus’ day, the brain was viewed as the location of the soul. The heart was where thinking happened. It wasn’t until late in the 17th century that the seat of intelligence moved to our brains. Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled; don’t be fearful.” In other words, “Don’t let your mind be troubled, there is nothing to fear.” 

We are living in a time in history when humanity as a whole seems to be chronically anxious and reactive. It seems as if the whole world around us wants us to be afraid and to react with anxiety, and it often seems as if this logic of the world is winning. Fear makes us forget who we are and whose we are. When I am afraid, I tend to forget who I am. The person that I truly am, is not angry, or greedy, or violent. But given enough anxiety or fear, I will react angrily. If I am pushed beyond my comfort zone, I will become anxious. If I fear deprivation or destitution, I will become greedy. Threaten me or someone I love with violence, and I may become a monster. Fear makes us forget to think, and to breathe, and it reveals a weakened faith. 

In his book, Mystical Christianity- A Psychological Commentary on the Gospel of John, the late Jungian analyst and Episcopal priest John Sanford wrote: “As long as our consciousness is limited to the information brought us by our physical senses and by our limited ego-consciousness, we tend to live in anxiety for we feel alone and unaided and therefore not able to cope with life’s threats and problems. Jesus’ prescription for this anxiety is faith in him, which also means faith in the reality of another world ordinarily unseen by us.” 

Jesus taught a new way of being in the world. He understood himself to be intimately related to the very Source of his being, the one he called Abba, a Creator intimately connected with creation. “I and the Father are one”, he said. God dwells in our midst. If we breathe deeply and feel the rhythm of the One who breathes in us, we can begin to remember who we are. The peace we so long for in this world will only be realized when we find peace in ourselves. If our inner peace depends on what others are doing, or how safe we feel, or what’s happening in our country, or what’s happening in the world, we will never find peace. The reality is that this wonderful world has always been, throughout its history, crazy and violent. 

Being truly grounded in who we are helps us overcome our fears, and it also helps us to better respond to the fears of others. Fear is the true enemy of peace. Jesus knew this and repeatedly told his followers to not be afraid. Fear separates us from ourselves, from one another and from God. 

So, when anxiety and fear threaten to make you forget who you are, breathe because we live each day precisely to the extent that divine breath is in us (Genesis 6:3). Breathe in and feel the presence of the One “in whom we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17:28). Breathe in the peace that surpasses all understanding; the peace that keeps us calm and assertive so we can stand firm in the face of all the craziness we are seeing around us without being sucked into its trauma.

Breathe in the peace that moves us to be the people God made us to be- a people of love, even in the midst of evil, love: incarnate and tangible. Love is never the only answer, but it is always the best and the one most likely to withstand the test of time. It is the solution we remember when the question has been laid down and all quarrels have been put aside. Love is the beginning and should always be the final word. So breathe in the peace that Jesus gives, the shalom of God, alive with the Spirit, abundant, healthy and whole, and may we always strife to be who God made us to be, people of love. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+  

Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025


ASH WEDNESDAY
Holy Cross Monastery
March 5, 2025
Isaiah 58:1-12      2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10      Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

Among all the creatures that inhabit the earth, we humans are unique in that we are conscious of our own mortality. And if we pay attention, we are reminded of this reality every day. Wars, natural fires, mass shootings, earthquakes, floods all remind us of how quickly things can change. We may behold our aging selves in mirrors that reflect the passing of years as we journey closer and closer to our own earthly demise. Or we may experience a nagging pain, a frightening diagnosis, the death of a loved one, or a day like today reminding us that we are made up of the stuff of the earth; dust, the same dust that was once the stuff that stars were made of. And when our life on this earth is over, we shall return to that dust. 

Our liturgy today is infused with this ancient reality, and we are invited to embrace our own mortality because death lies at the heart of what it means to be human. Life is precious because it is fragile. The reminder that we get just this one time on earth, and it is short, and then we die calls us to live to the fullest potential of who we are, and in the words of Henri Frederic Amiel to “be swift to love”, and “to make haste to be kind”. It can compel us to pay attention to where we are going, to look for paths that are grace-filled, and to be alive to all that is possible here and now. Being reminded of our mortality can also lead us to say yes to that call from God we have been missing because we are so distracted and busy trying to control our own destiny.

During the past two months I’ve had the occasion to reflect a lot on my own mortality and the preciousness of life. Back on January 16, I woke up with severe pain, so extreme that I wasn’t sure I could actually get out of bed. In true fashion, I thought: “Oh no, no, pain is not on my schedule for today. I have a class to teach, a choir practice to lead, and I need coffee.” God is infinitely patient with me, and so are my Brothers, so after teaching class that morning and leading choir practice, I made my way to the urgent care clinic while the pain continued to increase. At the clinic, I was told I was experiencing sciatic pain and would need physical therapy. In the meantime, I was prescribed some pain medication and was told I needed to be in bed for the next few days. Now, those who know me well can imagine the terror mixed with annoyance the thought of being in bed for a few days produced in my whole being. But the pain seemed to be increasing by the minute, and liked it or not, I had to stay in bed. 

The next few days were a gift- a very strange gift (God works in mysterious ways) but a gift nonetheless. A gift, because I felt the presence of God in ways I have never felt the presence of God before. It’s one thing to feel God’s presence when we are stimulated with beautiful art or music, or an awesome experience, or the wonders of nature. I have experience God’s presence countless times in those situations. It is a completely different matter to experience God’s presence in the midst of terrible pain. 

At first, I was in so much pain, I didn’t know how I would pray. I couldn’t kneel or sit in any one position for too long to do centering prayer. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read from a prayer book or pray the rosary. I finally managed to say: “God, I am in so much pain I can’t pray right now. I know I need to get through this. Please grant me the strength to do so, and stay with me, dear God.” No, I did not ask God to take my pain away. My brain does not work that way, and I know from the Gospels that when Jesus asked: “if it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me” it didn’t happen, so I wasn’t going to go there.

But, God was with me the whole time. I felt God’s presence in my pain. And it didn’t require any doing from me- sitting, kneeling, reading prayers, centering prayer, rosary, nothing. I could have asked God to forgive my sins, but I forgot, and it didn’t matter, God was with me and held me through my pain. God was with me in the form of Brothers who came to my cell to check on me, and bring me meals, and ask if I needed anything. All that was required of me was open receptivity- a spirit of yes; of welcome. The situation was the situation. It was not going to change. Now to welcome something doesn’t mean we have to like it. It just means we need to temporarily suspend our rush to judgement, and just to be open to what’s occurring, and to find some point of gratitude. I reflected with great gratitude on how thankful I am for my comfortable bed, good healthcare, adequate food, loving community. I felt great sorrow for those who may have sciatica or worse in Gaza, or Ukraine, or Sudan, or so many other places in the world, without appropriate care, or even a bed. God, please be with them.

In the reading from the epistle we just heard, St. Paul entreats the Corinthians (and us) to be reconciled to God. And he does not suggest a confession, or self-examination, or lays out a lengthy program of spiritual exercises. He tells us that we should simply accept the grace of God when the time is right, and see, now is that acceptable time. Life is short. Don’t wait. Now is the time! In the Gospel lesson Jesus tells us to go to our room, shut the door and pray to our God who is in secret. That secret place where God abides is our heart. It is a call to the kind of intimacy with God that nourishes, grounds, and sustains in ways that are beyond words. The fleeting, fragile, uncertain nature of life compels us to venture deeply into that secret place.

So today, as our foreheads are marked with ashen crosses to remind us of our mortality, may we meet the season of Lent with a spirit of welcome come what may; may we find the courage to say yes to what we know God is calling us to do; may we be swift to love; may we make haste to be kind; and may we dare to enter that secret place in our heart where we can be reconciled to God who always meets us where we are in our lives with loving grace and an open embrace that nourishes, grounds and sustains us in ways that are beyond words. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

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

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Initial Profession of the Monastic Vow of Br. Jacob Anthony Lecthworth OHC, February 18, 2025
  • 1 Samuel 3:1-11      
  • 1 Corinthians 1:22-31      
  • Matthew 6:24-27

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

I want to first, on behalf of the monastic community, welcome all of you who have come for this joyous occasion. Thank you for being with us. Anthony has been here at the monastery answering a call- trying his vocation, a word that comes from the Latin ‘vocatio’, a calling- a strong urge toward a particular way of life or career. For us monastics, a vocation is not just something that God calls us to do, it is also what God calls us to be. When people inquiring about monastic life say to me: “I’m feeling called to monastic life and I’m not sure if I should maybe discern a vocation,” my response is always: YES, followed by what was said to me by our late Brother Andrew when I started inquiring about the life: “If you have a vocation, in other words, if you are being called by God, that call will never go away. You might as well pursue it.” We can choose to answer the call or not. But that phone in our heart keeps ringing, and that phone has no voicemail or answering service. I’m sure some of us still remember what it feels like to hear a phone’s relentless ring when it is not answered (although I think today God just keeps sending text messages). 

In our first lesson, Samuel, is a boy who lives and works in the temple during a period when the religion of Israel had become dry. One night God calls to Samuel. He thinks it's the old priest Eli. This happens three times before Eli finally realizes that God, who hasn't spoken much to the people lately, is speaking to this boy. He tells Samuel to listen and obey when the voice speaks again. When Samuel finally responds to God instead of Eli, God tells him of plans to punish Eli’s family because of the iniquity of his sons. There is no task given, and no clarity. In other words, listening and obeying does not exempt us from life with all its joys and complications and struggles.

One of life’s biggest challenges is coping with uncertainty. Circumstances are always changing around us, and often in very unexpected ways. In fact, change is certainly one of life’s few guarantees. No matter how much we plan for the future there is actually little that we can know for sure about what will happen. Learning how to accept not knowing is one of the keys to spiritual health. Afterall, as Jesus tells us in the Gospel lesson today, by worrying, we cannot add a single hour to the span of our lives. Optimism and hope are absolutely important, but very often resilience and fortitude count much more.

So, dear Anthony, here you are- at a gate. You have not made it. You have not arrived. You are about to begin. Today you join the rest of your professed brothers on a pilgrimage. It is a wonderful journey of self-knowledge that will draw you deeper into the mystery that is God. The postulancy and novitiate periods have given you the map and have led you to the threshold. You are a hiker, so you know that often on a journey we encounter detours and turns that don’t appear on the map. We may journey through beautiful mossy brooks, grassy fern covered grounds, waterfalls, and incredible vistas. We may also encounter rocky climbs and muddy swamps. We may get off the path and have to find our way back to the trail. Getting upset and disheartened does not change the situation, and when we pray to God, the answer is usually, “I’m with you. Go ahead!” Accepting what is with resilience and fortitude is what helps us get to the other side, and we can do so while still enjoying all the beauty around us.

In a few moments, you will profess and sign the threefold Benedictine vow of stability, conversion of your ways to the monastic way of life, and obedience. The vow names the core Benedictine values of not running away when the going gets tough, being open to change and transformation, and listening intently and responding with your heart. 

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. On the hand, it is not about being fused in unhealthy ways either. Healthy community living involves being self-differentiated as we strive to stay connected. By vowing stability, we commit ourselves to facing the difficult times of our vocation without running away. Instead, we rely on the support of the community to carry us through. As our Brother Randy has said: “Crisis is often a prelude to some kind of deeper growth.”

Conversion of our ways to the monastic way of life calls for continuous transformation into Christ. Among other things, it challenges us to reevaluate our relationship with worldly possessions by holding all things in common. In a capitalist and consumerist society, we have become so attached to things, possessions have become our idols. In today’s Gospel reading Jesus reminds us that we cannot serve God and mammon. So, conversion to the monastic way of life encourages us to trust that our needs will be met. And when our wants are not met, we can say with Blessed Mary: “Here I am, the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me according to your will.”

As monks we are always in a state of becoming and encountering our need for conversion at deeper and deeper levels. Through ongoing conversion, we shed away the layers of defense we have built around us in order to cope with a world that sometimes seems anything but loving. Vulnerability is the key to ongoing conversion and growth. Trusting our Brothers and constantly opening ourselves to them is a vulnerable choice because it means that we will inevitably get hurt by them at times. The good news, though, is that the opposite is also true. In community we can experience love at a deep, soulful and trusting level. 

And finally, obedience- easy to talk about and very difficult to live out. It is perhaps the hardest part of the monastic vow because refusing to obey challenges our stability in the community and in the order and hinders our conversion to the monastic way of life. It is not about mindlessly conforming and complying. On the other hand, it is not just about listening. The idea that obedience is just about listening implies that, yes, I will listen to what my superior, the Order’s council, or the community is saying. I will consider it, and if I agree I will obey. If I don’t agree, I may engage in all manner of passive-aggressive behavior, grumbling and murmuring, or plainly decide not to obey. That is not monastic obedience.

Monastic obedience involves giving our hearts to what we have heard. Like every other aspect of our life, it involves discernment and prayer. Through discernment, we strive to hear God’s voice manifested in the practices of the community and the requests of those in authority. Prayer leads us to a spirit of respect and charity toward others. No leadership role in this order is a “power” position, but a “servant” position. Even when dialogue, communal consideration, or expert advice are necessary, we respond to those in authority with cooperation so they can fulfill their leadership role with dignity and integrity. This kind of deep listening and cooperation is only possible when we do it from a place of love. It is love that opens us to hearing the voice of God in our fallible Brothers.

Anthony, you came to this monastery with a deep, deep longing for God. That longing is manifested by your great capacity for love, and your willingness to receive love. It is manifested in your love for our liturgy and communal prayer, your concern for the welfare of others, your willingness to lend a hand when needed, your devotion to your various tasks, and your love for community life. You have shown incredible conscientiousness by deeply listening and reflecting on what you hear with openness and humility. It has been a great joy and privilege to accompany you on your discernment for the past three years, first as an inquirer and aspirant, and then as a postulant and novice, and to have witnessed your transformation day by day. There is much more to come, and I’m looking forward to experiencing it with you, no longer as your formator, but as your fellow Brother. I love you. We all love you and wish you every blessing in your vocation. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Wednesday, January 1, 2025

The Holy Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, January 1, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Holy Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, January 1, 2025

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

One of the experiences most present for me in the monastery is that of seasons and new beginnings. We are reminded of this every single day throughout the year. We live the seasons of the day- morning, afternoon, evening, night, sanctified, of course, by the Daily Office, each prayer with its own character serving as a pillar to mark each section of the day, reminding us to begin again, and to stay in the now. We live the seasons of the week. The beginning of the week, which for us is Tuesday, feels very different to the end of the week. On Tuesdays, I feel rested and energetic, and ready to face whatever may present itself. On Sundays, I’m usually tired and very much looking forward to leisure and rest. 

We live the seasons of the liturgical year- Advent, Christmastide, Epiphany followed by Ordinary time, Lent, Easter, Ascensiontide, Pentecost followed by the longer Ordinary time. We seem to experience and give meaning to the events of these liturgical seasons according to the season of the year during which they are celebrated. I’m sure, for instance, that we would be doing things in a slightly different way if we were to celebrate the Resurrection in the fall or in the dead of winter, or Christmas in the summer as people do in the southern hemisphere. 

The seasons of the year are very different from one another here in the Hudson Valley. During the spring, our grounds explode with color and beauty. The air is crisp and all the parks and mountains in the region seem to be calling us to come for a visit. Summers for me usually mean lots of gardening and looking forward to a much slower pace during the month of August when the guesthouse is closed. It’s usually very hot and humid around here making us slow down. 

The end of summer and beginning of autumn bring a burst of renewed energy to the monastery. Our guesthouse reopens for the fall. We look forward to seeing our regular guests as well as meeting the new people that will come to experience a retreat here for the first time. The end of autumn brings with it a reminder of the end of earthly life, and the remembrance of those who have gone before us with the celebrations of All Saints and All Souls.

Winters are gray and cold. There are several snowfalls during the season. At the beginning of the season, we are celebrating Christmas. I’m always quite busy doing all things music. Then, as it will happen after today, things become very quiet around here. The guesthouse will close and the community will go into deep silence during our annual eight-day retreat. After all the December celebrations, energy, and the welcoming of guests coming and going, we all very much look forward to the silence and everything stopping. It will be the occasion for spending quality time with God.

We are also aware of the seasons of monastic vocation- postulancy, novitiate, initial profession, life profession- and how these seasons intermingle with the seasons of our own life- youth, middle age, old age. We observe the flourishing of new vocations and the diminishment of older brothers day by day. 

Many new beginnings in life are accompanied by being named something new or by our taking on a new name. In marriage, for instance, people often decide to adopt their spouse’s surname, or add it to their full name. At profession a monk has the option of choosing a new name, and this action very clearly marks the beginning of something new, a new season in life. I have many former students who have come out as nonbinary or transgender and have changed their names to one better suited to their new identity and new beginning.

Names and naming are very important in the stories of Scripture. We read about God using names and name changes to establish relationship, identity, belonging and new beginnings. In the book of Genesis, God names things as God creates them, and then God names the first human: “Adam,” who is created out of adamah, the earth. After God creates and names the human, God asks Adam to name all of the animals. Later on, in that book Abram becomes Abraham and Sarai becomes Sarah for their new covenant with God. Jacob wrestles the angel and is named Israel. In the Book of Exodus, Moses is so named because he was drawn from the water. In the New Testament, Simon becomes Peter, the Rock upon which the Church is built, and Saul becomes Paul when his life is transformed.

Today the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Name. It is the celebration of the great mystery of that which is beyond naming taking a name for our sake. In the reading we heard from the Book of Numbers, which is one of the most beautiful passages in all of the Hebrew Scriptures, the Holy Name of God is placed on the people as a priestly blessing. “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD’S face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up the divine countenance upon you, and give you peace. So they shall put my Name on the Israelites, and I will bless them.” And since, as Saint Paul says to the Galatians, we are heirs, the Holy Name of God is placed on us too, and the face of God is meant to shine upon us. Let us ponder for a moment the enormity and the beauty of that as we begin a new year! 

The word translated in the passage as “LORD” is the unspeakable Hebrew Name of God, the Tetragrammaton, or the letters (YHVH) pronounced by Christians as Yahweh, but never uttered by Jews. When the Name had to be spoken, it was replaced with “Elohim” (the strong God), or “Adonai” (the Lord) or “Hashem” (the Name). In the Bible we see it most often referred to as LORD in capitalized form. LORD, in this sense, is a way of pointing to what is beyond words and cannot be named. 

Many mystics believe that we carry the name of God on every breath. That is why it cannot be spoken, because it is the sound of breath. The spirit of God is within us and around us. Every time we take a breath during our chanting of prayers in this church we are breathing in the spirit of God and that same spirit comes out manifested in song, in beauty. So today’s feast presents one of the many paradoxes of the Christian faith- the tension between what can and cannot be named, between saying and unsaying. 

The name Jesus is a translation of the Greek Iesous, which is itself a transliteration of the Aramaic Yeshua, a shortened version of the Hebrew Yehoshua or, in English, Joshua. The most literal meaning of Yehoshua is “Yaweh is a saving-cry.” Cry in this sense means shout. In other words, the meaning of the Holy Name of our Lord Jesus the Christ is “Yahweh shouts salvation.”  Eight days ago we commemorated and celebrated the paradox of the Incarnation- the Unspeakable is spoken. Today, the Unnameable takes on a name and shouts salvation.

In first-century Aramaic there was no word for “salvation.” Salvation was understood as being made alive. It concerned the whole person. To  become whole is to be transformed from within into our true identity, our deepest freedom that only comes from God’s infinite love for us. A love that is always present, always meets us where we are, and always works with what is. We come from LOVE, and we are made to love one another as the LOVE that is beyond all that is loves us. 

So, as we begin again a new year, I invite you to return to your breath. Breathe prayerfully, in silent awe and humble gratitude because the Nameless and the Named are One within us and around us in immense love. There is a lot of darkness in this world right now, and I am convinced more and more that the higher solution, the best way to help is through the kind of prayer and meditation that takes us to the level of consciousness where all things resolve into harmony and where we can develop the will toward righteousness and goodness. The present darkness of this world will never overcome the light. Never! May we all be filled with joy and peace, yes, but also with the hope that keeps us reminded that sometimes, courage and perseverance count more. Most importantly, may our whole being be present to the LOVE that surpasses all understanding. Happy New Year! ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Friday, November 1, 2024

All Saints' Day, November 1, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
All Saints' Day, November 1, 2024

 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+


 

 

 

 

Sunday, August 4, 2024

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost B - August 4, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 13, August 4, 2024

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

“What sign are you going to give us…?” The crowd asks as a Greek chorus, all speaking the same thing at the same time…When meditating on these biblical stories, I like to use an Ignatian exercise in which, every time I read it, I think of myself as a different character in the story. Thinking of myself as Jesus, my response to the crowd asking for a sign is: “Were you not on the other side of the lake yesterday when I fed THE 5,000 OF YOU WITH FIVE LOAVES OF BREAD AND TWO FISH?” And so, we give thanks that I am not Jesus!

This is the second of a five-week series of readings walking us through a single chapter in the Gospel according to John. Every three years, the lectionary invites us to spend five weeks contemplating Jesus’s self-description as “the bread of life,” or “the bread which comes down from heaven.” Last week we heard John’s Gospel’s version of the feeding of the five thousand. This week that story continues with the crowds hungry for more, and Jesus challenging them (and us) to move beyond the bread Jesus gave on the hillside to the “bread of life” that is Jesus himself. It is a provocative invitation to a deep transformation. It’s not about a shallow affirmation of Jesus as our Lord and Savior so we can get into heaven, but go on with our greed, selfishness and anxieties. And it is not about thinking of Jesus as just a super great exemplar, or guru or wisdom sage from whom we can learn some clever tricks about how to get through life. No, it is a strange-sounding invitation that requires we move from our heads into our hearts. Jesus says, “believe in me,” “follow me,” “learn from me.” And he goes as far as to say: Eat me, and never be hungry again. It is a wild invitation to radical intimacy! 

The Gospel writer presents the dialogue between Jesus and the crowd as a kind of parallel companion to the earlier dialogue in chapter four between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. The woman asks Jesus for water; in today’s story the crowd is looking for bread. Jesus tells the Samaritan woman that there is another, more deeply nourishing water, “living water.” He tells the crowd about the bread that “comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” Thinking of the water literally as physical, the woman asks for it, saying, “Sir, give me this water.” The crowd, also misunderstanding, says, “Sir, give us this bread.” And then, with an “I am” statement, Jesus declares his identity. It is a choreography of encounter, misunderstanding, and invitation to deeper consciousness. And the invitation is for us, too, to recognize the deep hungers beneath our surface hungers, and to move into deeper and more authentic forms of trust in God.

Now, to be clear, there is nothing wrong or “unspiritual” about the crowd looking for more literal bread. Of course they’re looking for bread! They’re poor, food is scarce, and they need to feed themselves and their families. And let us remember that Jesus feeds them first. He tends to their physical hunger without any reservation. But he doesn’t stop there. He asks them to probe their soul hungers too. Physical food is important, but there is another form of food, a deeper kind of nourishment essential to our wellbeing so that we can thrive, and Jesus has come to provide it. 

Jesus calls this deep nourishment “the food that endures for eternal life.” Now, Jesus does not say, “the food that gives you life after death.” Afterlife is not the subject here. The “eternal life” Jesus offers in not an indefinite survival in this world or a disembodied soul-life in some vague world outside of time, but rather, an intimate, mutual indwelling with God here and now, a life with and in God. It is the indestructible and super-abundant life of the Trinity lived in our own bodily human mortality. In other words, as Jesus presents it in John’s Gospel, “eternal life” is a matter of quality of life, not “quantity” of life- a “timeless” life of peace, beauty and grace.

At its heart, this is a story about hunger: physical, yes, and also the many other kinds of hungers that shape our daily lives. What are those hungers? From my conversations with people in vocational discernment, and people in spiritual direction I know there is hunger for meaning, for purpose, for connection and belonging, for intimacy and love. There is a deep hunger for healing of old wounds. And there is a craving for joy, and delight, and peace. I always tell people I hope they are not trying to be or desperately needing to be unique, because these are not unique hungers. They are very universal!

It’s one thing to name our hungers, but quite another to trust that Jesus will satisfy them. And very often what keeps us from that trust is shame- a sense that we could not possibly be worthy of God’s grace. The infamous, and fabulous Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber describes the shame that often keeps us from feasting on Jesus: “It’s hard to accept not just that God welcomes all, but that God welcomes all of me, all of you. Even that within us we wish to hide: the part that cursed at our children this week, or drank alone, or has a problem with lying, or hates our body. That part within us that suffers from depression and can’t admit it, or is too fearful to give our money away, or is riddled with shame over our sexuality, or cheats on taxes. All these parts of us we wish Jesus had the good sense to not welcome to his table are invited to taste and see that the Lord is good."  

The crowd in today’s gospel story is ravenous for food, for health, for a king, for righteousness, for salvation- and they desperately misinterpret Jesus, first as a potential monarch and then as a wonderworker who will show them how to “perform the works of God.” They seek control, power, protection against their vulnerabilities, and they see themselves as the proper agents of that power and control. Their trust is rooted in themselves. I don’t know about you, but it sounds very familiar to me! But Jesus is telling the crowd (and us) that when it comes to our most fundamental nourishment, we are to root our trust, not in ourselves, but in God, who loves and cares for us. This is the “work” God gives us to do: to have faith in the one God has sent to us. Jesus is the sign and the nourishment. He wants to draw us into our innermost truth- a higher, deeper, more genuine form of ourselves where we abide in God as God abides in us. That genuine form of ourselves manifests itself as a life lived according to our deepest calling with complete integrity, knowing not only who we are, but whose we are. That is the “true bread” for which we hunger. 

And that is what “faith” is really all about: not merely intellectual agreement to some particular set of claims, but a deeply relational and existential trust in a God who loves us and cares for us, and a consequent impulse to live with love, gratitude, and grace. God gives us not only our “daily bread,” but also the bread of heaven, the bread of life itself. Hearing this, we might well say with the crowd: “Give us this bread always!” ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Friday, March 29, 2024

Maundy Thursday - March 28, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
Maundy Thursday, March 28, 2024

 Click here for an audio of the sermon



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

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Initial Profession of the Monastic Vow, February 28, 2024


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+