Proper 10 A - July 16, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt, OHC

Proper 10, Year A - Sunday, July 16, 2023

 

Isaiah 55:10-13
Romans 8:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

 

 

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The Parable of the Sower, also known as the Parable of the Soils, is one of few parables to feature in all three synoptic gospels (Mark, Matthew and Luke).

The purpose of a parable is “to tease the mind into active thought” (C.H. Dodd). And it’s OK to have several possible interpretations, even if they do not necessarily agree with one another.

So it’s a little bit of a let down that the gospelers felt compelled to give us an interpretation. Whether the interpretation was spoken by Jesus in his own time is a hotly debated issue.

Once an interpretation is authorized by no less than the Son of God, it is difficult to let our imagination come up with a variety of interpretations.

But bear with me. I will venture one few imagined interpretations anyway.

Jesus’s telling of the parable is sandwiched between the admonition to “Listen!” (3b) and the admonition “Let anyone with ears listen” (9). So we are invited to really pay attention to the possibilities of the text.

There are three potential areas of attention in this parable. Each one is rich in interpretive possibilities; the Sower, the Four Soils, the Miraculous Harvest.

First, let’s focus on the Sower. In first century Palestine, the soil was not cultivated prior to seeding. The sower cast the seed everywhere without prejudging where it would flourish. And then he plowed the field afterward to make the seed penetrate the soil. Then you had to trust God would provide the rain and wait for growth.

The next possible area of attention are the Four Soils.
- There is the hardened soil of the path,
- the shallow soil with lots of rocks right underneath (sounds like the Hudson Valley to me),
- the thorny or weedy soil,
- and the good soil.

The third area of attention in this parable is the Miraculous Yield. A reasonable cereal yield is to get four to five, maybe seven times as much grain as was sown. Jesus speaks of a thirtyfold to hundredfold yield. That kind of yield would truly be miraculous and would guarantee a super bumper crop no matter how many seeds did not come to that.

Our Sower sows with abandon, without prejudging the results. Is our Sower God or the Son of Man. His kind of sowing reminds me of Jesus saying earlier in the same gospel according to Matthew that
“[the Father] makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:45)

Now, are we the seed expected to sprout, grow and bear fruit? If so, we are in less of a predicament than the seed in the parable. Compared to seeds we have options. We can sometimes change some of our conditions, or move where conditions will lead us to flourish. Fate is more malleable for humans than for seeds.

And do the four soils represent chapters of our own lives?
Have we at times not been so hardened that it was difficult to let the good news touch us?
Have we never been so troubled by adversity that we couldn’t focus on the good news?
Have the appeal of success, esteem, romance and riches lured us away from our spiritual foundations?

I do not believe we are predestined to be one or the other type of soil once and for all. God has given us agency. We can awaken and evolve. That’s part of what you are here for this morning. Letting the good news in and growing with it.

But maybe, the parable is not about us individually. Maybe it isn’t about who we are, and where we are at in our spiritual journey. Maybe this is not a call to introspection: what kind of soil am I now? Maybe this is not about our conversion of heart or metanoia.

Could it be that this parable is about more good news than most of us are ready for?
Not everyone will yield fruit thirty, sixty or hundredfold. But if enough good soil is found for the seed, this miraculous yield will more than make up for the seed that did not flourish.

Maybe the Sower isn’t so foolish after all to sow everywhere. If even a few seeds grow to this amazing fruition, the harvest will be plentiful. And if this about the Kingdom of Heaven, the Kingdom will be available to all regardless of their yield or lack of it.

That sounds like the infinitely merciful and loving God I am in love with.

It may also be that Jesus isn’t just telling this parable.

He says it’s about rejecting or receiving the word about the kingdom of heaven. It may be that he is living this parable as he tells it.

After all, crowds welcomed his signs and his message. But few persevered in the face of adversity.

Yet, from those very few, multitudes grew to know Him. Multitudes have come to believe his message of redeeming love through the centuries. Many embody this message of love in how they live. And their lives touch many more.

They yield thirtyfold, sixtyfold and a hundredfold and they may not even come to know of it during their earthly lives. So let us not worry about what kind of seed we are. Let’s focus on spreading God’s Love.


For us to grow into fruitful disciples of Jesus, we must listen, understand, properly attend to His message, and doggedly persevere in the love of God and neighbor.

And rejection of Jesus’ message by many need not stop us coming to fruition. Encountering rejection of God’s loving message does not mean the message is wrong, or that our efforts at broadcasting it is folly. Look at the lives and deaths of Jesus and his apostles.

It simply is a fact of life, not everyone will take in the message and flourish with it. But some will. And by God’s grace, flourish beautifully and plenteously, they will.

The kingdom of heaven is like a bountiful crop produced in spite of what seem to be overwhelming setbacks.
Do trust in God’s abundance.

You are the instruments of God’s Love in the world. Do consent to God’s presence and action within you. And trust that God is crafting redemption through you, whether you know it or not.

A bountiful harvest will result from your spreading his Love broadly in the world. We don’t need to figure out, and anticipate how it will happen. We don’t need to be selective about where the Love is poured out.

We need to love God and neighbor. Let’s start with that.

Amen.

The Feast of Saint Benedict - July 11, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero, OHC

The Feast of Saint Benedict, July 11, 2023

Proverbs 2:1-9

Psalm 1

Luke 14:27–33

 

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Today we celebrate the feast of Saint Benedict, the father of Western monasticism, who is most known for his rule, which we know as “The Rule of Saint Benedict”. It is a document he seems to have worked on throughout the duration of his life. It is also, clearly, a product of his own monastic conversion, which happened within an already existing tradition. 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 of Saint Benedict also shows to have been mostly the editing and reworking of an earlier and very severe monastic rule called “The Rule of the Master”. But 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. How did he develop this sense of right measure, moderation, and discretion? What was Benedict’s formation?

Most of what we know about Saint Benedict comes from the second book of the Dialogues of Pope Gregory the Great, written about sixty years after Benedict’s death. The work is a combination of hagiographical sketch and miracle stories, but there are things in it that we can receive as… factual approximations. At any rate, as readers of Scripture, we know that something does not need to be factual to be true. In fact, if we read any document written before the Age of Enlightenment literally and not deeply and carefully, we will very likely not find what is true.

Nevertheless, the first time I read “The Life and Miracles of Saint Benedict” when I was a novice, I strongly felt it had been a phenomenal waste of my time. I thought it was utterly absurd and useless. But God has a sense of humor, so years later, when I was studying in Rome, one of the first classes of the Monastic Formator’s Program was titled “Saint Benedict and the Dialogues”. I think Saint Benedict would have had much to say about my grumbling and rolling of my eyes when I found out we would be studying “The Life and Miracles of St. Benedict”. And because God will also humble us, the class turned out to be extraordinary, and one of the most significant classes I experienced in that already outstanding program. Fr. Mauritius Wilde, OSB guided us in tracing St. Benedict’s spiritual development as an archetype for our own spiritual development.

The literary genre of “The Life and Miracles of Saint Benedict” is called “Exemplum,” which means “example” or “model”. The genre was widespread in the Middle Ages. Exemplum is a form of story in which the protagonist, through a certain behavior and series of actions, has achieved a certain result, usually corresponding to the salvation of the soul. These stories were written for teaching, enjoyment, and motivation. The key for us today is to read the story creating a metaphorical interpretation that gives meaning to our spiritual journey.

In the case of The Life and Miracles of Saint Benedict, it is not helpful to read any part of the book wondering if a miracle presented actually happened. What’s beneficial is to read carefully, to go deeper, and to try to extract meaning in the story, and to see Benedict the human being. Benedict was not born our holy father Benedict. He was a human being who was vulnerable, broken, and weak. He went through stages of temptation, trials, growth, and development, but also setbacks. His was a journey that serves as a model of these stages in our own lives.

Benedict was born around the year 480, in central Italy, to a noble family. We always hear that Benedict went to Rome to study, but St. Gregory tells us that he was sent to Rome to study, presumably by his father, who wished him to have a good education. But in Rome, Benedict was turned off by the excesses of the Roman society of the time. So, Benedict’s journey becomes about the process of detachment necessary to gain self-knowledge and do God’s will, as opposed to meeting family’s expectations. And this desire was very likely there before he went to Rome. He renounces his father’s inheritance, letting go of financial security, and thus entering a vulnerable stage in his life.

Leaving everything behind, he travels about 40 miles to Affide, a place at the foot of a mountain. We read in the Dialogues that his childhood nurse goes with him. After some time and a series of events, Benedict secretly escapes from her, which indicates she may have come against his will. But this action shows a weakness is young Benedict’s character. The courageous and compassionate thing would have been to face his nurse and say he wanted to be without her. In our monastic vocation it is necessary to detach from family and even to let go of certain relationships. But the process of detachment must always happen in love. And detaching does not mean cutting off!

From Affide, Benedict then travels to Subiaco, where he lived in a cave as a hermit for three years. There, he remained concealed from the world, except for a deeply caring monk named Romanus from a nearby monastery. He represents the formator. The cave represents Benedict’s novitiate, his “fuga mundi”.
 
“Fuga mundi” is the traditional monastic terminology for the detachment from the world that happens when one enters the monastery. “Fuga” literally means “flight”. There are biblical reasons for why flight from the world is not healthy. God created the world, so it is good. The incarnation also shows us that we are to embrace the world, because “God so loved the world.” At the same time, it is OK to want to detach from the dominating values of this world: lack of justice and morality, contempt towards those who are different, total environmental indifference, consumerism, greed, and the thirst for privilege. Past the novitiate, the symbol of a monk’s “fuga mundi” is the monastic cell, our cave, if you will, where we go to learn about our deepest self so that we can know God. Fr. Mauritius also taught us that the other symbol of the “funga mundi” for a monastic is the habit. It is our statement to the world that we choose different; that things do not need to be the way they are. The desire to want to flee the ways of the world can be justifiable and useful, but we can’t stay in our cave forever. There are times when the habit must come off and we must leave our monastic cell.

There is another anecdote in the Dialogues that shows how Benedict struggled before he began to ponder and eventually master a sense of right measure, moderation, and discretion. Romanus would regularly set aside as much bread as he could from his own daily portion, and would secretly leave his monastery, and take the bread to Benedict. There was no path leading to Benedict’s cave from the monastery, which was at a higher altitude. So Romanus would tie the bread, 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, so he could come out and get it.

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 easy answer would be the devil! That is, if we think of the devil as an external little red man with horns and dressed in red! In that case, bad is external- out there! This leads us to point the finger: “If that Brother wouldn’t behave that way… If he wouldn’t say the things he says sometimes… If they wouldn’t allow him to do those things… I would not be feeling this way…” But this “ancient enemy of humankind” is within us. The “ancient enemy of humankind’ who threw the stone at the bell was Benedict! And why did he do so?

One of the temptations of “fuga mundi” is going to extremes. Benedict has the illusion that he can live with absolutely no help from anyone. This kind of religious extremism turns our vocation to be about our ego and not about God. For Benedict, the temptation he must flee from is himself and his fixation on detachment. Yes, we need to let go and let God, but God sends us help through others. Our deepest nature is communion and communication. God as Trinity is communion. Life with God has to do with communion. Benedictine monasticism is communal. A Benedictine monk seeks God alone… in community! It is life in community and the mutual obedience, and the dealing with others that comes with it, that leads us to God. It is no wonder that Benedict went on to found twelve communities of monks before settling in Monte Casino in the mountains of Italy where he lived in a thirteenth monastery as abbot with other monks.
 
So, it seems to me that a big part of the Benedictine call is to be passionately caring (like Romanus!); to be compassionate, loving, and patient towards our own struggles because it is the only way we can be compassionate, loving, and patient towards the struggles of others. We do this trusting that God 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, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Proper 9 A - July 9, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Robert Leo Sevensky, OHC

Proper 9 A - Sunday, July 9, 2023

 

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Click here for an audio of the sermon

Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all who truly turn to him.

COME unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.  St. Matt. xi. 28.

    So God loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, to the end that all that believe in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.  St. John iii. 16.

    Hear also what Saint Paul saith.

    This is a true saying, and worthy of all men to be received, That Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.  1 Tim. i. 15.

    Hear also what Saint John saith.

    If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the Propitiation for our sins.  1 St. John ii. 1, 2.

I'd venture to guess that these words in this form have not been uttered in this Chapel for well over 50 years. But if you were raised as an Anglican or Episcopalian or came into this Church before about 1970 you would recognize these sentences immediately. Universally known as the Comfortable Words, they were a part of every celebration of the Holy Communion for centuries beginning in the 1500s, and not only in the Anglican tradition but in other Reformed traditions as well. Placed after the confession and absolution of sin and before the start of the great Eucharistic thanksgiving, they set the context for all that both went before and followed.

The meaning of the English word ‘comfortable’ has changed over the centuries. It's not so much about being put at ease as one might be in a recliner in front of the television or enjoying the breezes of summer in a hammock under the trees. Rather the word comfort, as its etymology suggests, had to do with strengthening and upholding. It's in this light that these words provide comfort: they strengthen and uphold us in our faith.

The first of these comfortable words or sentences we hear at the end of today’s Gospel passage:

“Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

It’s on these words that I’d like to reflect this morning, albeit very indirectly. Today we are in the fifth and final of our so-called Contemplative Days, days of silence with a reduced worship and work schedule that we observe several times in the year. We have found them to be very popular among our friends who are searching for a radical, if temporary, change in the rhythms of daily living. I'm not certain how we ended up naming this practice Contemplative Days. I think it was the invention of a previous guest master who is no longer with our community. It's a catchy name and has a certain cachet. It seems everybody wants to be a contemplative now, at least for a while. The hospitality sector has certainly enticed people on vacation packages with popular images that many associate with contemplation of one sort or another…images of the ultra-thin woman sitting in a yoga posture expensively, if scantily, clad in a tropical setting. Or the couple sitting on a dock staring over the waters, gazing in the middle distance, holding hands. Or the red mountains of Sedona best enjoyed with a healthful probiotic beverage in hand. And truthfully even monasteries have used such visual propaganda. You know the image: the hooded monk sitting under a large tree and holding an enormous volume, preferably printed before 1500. 

But it all leaves me wondering: what does it really mean to be contemplative? It may involve silence though not necessarily. It may involve solitude, though not necessarily. It may be a way of praying, but again not necessarily. When push comes to shove, it must somehow be a way of living, of being. If it’s not that, who cares? For me a handful of characteristics mark contemplative living. The first is the demand to live with attention and awareness. One of the Desert Fathers said: ‘Unawareness is the root of all evil.” I think he was right. And it is my own refusal to pay attention to the world and others and to engage in the challenging discipline of honest awareness—about myself, my community, my relationships, my world—that keeps me from living a more fully contemplative life, a more fully Christian life.

I believe that a contemplative life is one lived in time and that takes time seriously. That takes time to do what is necessary and takes time to recognize what is not just unnecessary but an evasion or a dishonesty. The best advice I ever got about contemplative living came from the late Winifred Osta who worked in our kitchen years ago. I was rushing around as was, and is still too often, my wont. And Winifred would simply tell me: Robert, you’re rushing too fast. I know it’s not always a practical or welcome observation nor particularly profound, but for me to act as if I had all the time in the world was a powerful antidote to my penchant to get things done fast and well. When we bless the candle at the Easter Vigil we say:

To God belong at all times and all seasons. They are only lent to us. Until we understand that, until we practice that we will never live contemplatively.

The third mark is the dynamic of work in its broadest sense. To live contemplatively is to work at something with our whole being and to lose ourselves in it, if only occasionally. It may be as simple as preparing a meal for oneself or a loved one or as dramatic as rescuing a child or a nation in peril. Admittedly, for many people, work is drudgery…without apparent meaning or just reward. But to live contemplatively is to learn to see in our own work, however menial or unproductive or limited, and in the work of others a dignity that befits the children of God. At the entrance to our guesthouse is a stone with the Latin motto Ora et Labora…Pray and Work…often used as a handy summary of Benedictine spirituality. Both prayer and work are very ordinary and yet very necessary. Together they constitute a privileged path to sanctity.

The fourth and final characteristic of contemplative living comes directly from today’s Gospel where Jesus says: My yoke is easy and my burden is light. The truth is: we are all yoked. That is, every one of us is connected to each other, to the creation and to God. And we all bear burdens. And if we are fully human, we share each other’s burdens. Our goal as Christians is not to be unyoked or unburdened, but to be furthered yoked and at the same time to welcome and accept the burdens that our rightfully ours, sharing them with others as they share theirs with us. Perhaps we are so weary so often because we are carrying the wrong burdens or laboring under yokes of our own creation and not those that God allots or allows for our true human flourishing. If the true contemplative knows anything, it is this: that we are all in this together. There is no other way.

Attention, time, work, burden bearing/burden sharing: this for me is contemplative living. Simple, ordinary, challenging, holy, life-giving.

Let the final words be those of Jesus as channeled through Eugene Peterson’s popular paraphrase The Message:

"Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you'll recover your life. I'll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me - watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly."

Amen. Or as Peterson would put it: Oh, yes!