Thursday, June 25, 2026

The Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, June 24, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Scott Wesley Borden

The Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, June 24, 2026

 

Today we keep the feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist. And its fun to speculate on what the appropriate menu for this feast might be... What sort of food would John the Baptist want? To be sure, it will have to be something very simple, something with very little taste – perhaps a main course of curdled milk and a desert of locusts and wild honey...

The Baptist's notoriously somber food wishes notwithstanding, the importance of John in the Christian story cannot be overstated. He prepares the world for Jesus and is acclaimed as the greatest profit ever known. We’re part of the story too – it is a story of how we prepare our hearts and minds and bodies to receive Jesus. It is the story for much of Advent, but it is really a story for any time and for all time.

There are a number of details in Luke’s account of the birth of John the Baptist that tell us the story is bigger than John. The fact that John is not to be named after his father is a very important detail – he is, after all, the first-born child. But Zecharia is out. He is to be named John – a name which has its roots in the Greek god of water. Is this subtle foreshadowing – after all, John will baptize with water. Water is also essential to all life as we know it. This may be Luke’s way of showing us that this story touches us all, not only the faithful Jews.

In the story of John’s birth, we have one of the most moving passages in scripture - the Song of Zachariah, also known as the Benedictus. “For you, John, will go before the Lord, bringing knowledge of salvation and light to those who are in darkness. You will lead us in the way of peace.” In our monastic worship, this is a hymn we sing at the start of every day.

This is John who we meet today. The forerunner. The profit called to prepare the world for the coming of Jesus. The one who leads us to peace. But the promise of John is a little different than the reality of John. He is a profit. And he does make the way ready for Jesus. But I’m not sure he leads us in the way of peace – at least not as we think of it. And frankly, I think John’s a bit of an extremist.

He wears sack cloth and covers himself with ashes. He has a diet of locust and wild honey. He leads his followers in a life of denial and fasting. His message is a harsh one – a message of judgement. He greets people with statements like “You brood of vipers...” His judgement against Herodias, the wife of Herod, is so severe that it costs him his life. If John were with us today, I wonder if he’d want to be part of the Episcopal Church, or any Church... Given his assessment of the Herod, I wonder what he might have to say about the leaders of our day.

Many of the things that John does are things that Jesus calls us not to do. Jesus doesn’t lead his followers in this extreme way. When asked why his followers are so much less disciplined than John’s, Jesus says that we are at a banquet and so we must celebrate – something that we will do symbolically in just a few moments at the Eucharist. Most importantly, Jesus does not condemn people, not even the wife of Herod. Jesus is building a congregation of sinners, not of saints.

I do believe Jesus looks with great joy at many churches in our time, even as we struggle. For our struggle is how to be greater in our inclusion – how to draw the circle wide and draw it wider still. The inclusion of Jesus, after all, knows no bounds.

But we still need to focus on John’s story and how it applies to us.

One essential element of John’s story is that he seems utterly uninterested, perhaps even incapable of telling anything but the truth – the whole unvarnished truth. He does not have the spirit of a politician. This is one aspect of the prophetic witness of John that we need. Being polite is one of the great virtues in contemporary Christianity. We didn’t get the from John... nor from Jesus...

If we could come to regard sugarcoating the truth as sin, perhaps fewer children would starve... perhaps fewer school children would be shot, perhaps health care would be universally available in the richest country on earth.

When we begin to encounter God as part of our lives – and I think all of us come to a point where we either begin an adult encounter with God, or we walk away from faith – when we encounter God we tend to respond in extreme terms. How could we do otherwise?

We want to get rid of everything that is ungodly; clean up our lives... And we want others to do the same. We hear the same call that John heard;

build a straight pathway in the wilderness, smooth out the rough places, fill in the potholes and get rid of the wicked folks. But at some point, we learn that Jesus also calls us to a feast, not a fast. And we learn that our purpose is not to build a perfect road. Our purpose is to travel that road with our brothers and sisters and all of God’s creation.

In other words, we must learn how to have a relationship with God. This is a lifelong process. Any relationship takes time and effort to grow strong and whole. Relationships often have clumsy starts and rough patches, but over time they grow deeper and more complex. John the Baptist helps us start the relationship with God, but Jesus teaches us about the deep and abiding love of God.

That is ultimately what John was doing. Welcoming God into his life, welcoming the incarnation of God into this world, welcoming Jesus, who at that time was a highly expected stranger. There were many sets of expectations for the Savior, but they were mostly seriously off the mark. I would just point out that even these days, many of our expectations of Jesus are way off the mark.

But in our different ways we are working to welcome Jesus into our lives through the increasing of love and justice. John is called a profit of the Most High – a title none of us claim. But we are all called by our baptism to be God’s messengers. The message is God’s love. And we must remember that love and justice are eternally linked.    

The call of John the Baptist is a call to all of us through our baptism: Make the world ready, make ourselves ready, shine light in dark places, lead the way to God’s peace. The call doesn’t come from John - it comes through John. That is perhaps the most joyful piece of John’s story - the story of all of us.

God can use us as we are. We can serve as God’s instruments in spite of ourselves.

And if we are a little too harsh, or a bit clumsy, or we muddle the message a bit, it's OK. We can fall down and get back up. Because ultimately, we are messengers, not the message. The message is that God, who is love, is alive and dwells with all creation.

Sunday, June 14, 2026

The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 6, June 14, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Bruno Santana, OHC

The Third Sunday after Pentecost, June 14, 2026




There is a lot of pain in our world today. But you do not need me to tell you that. We see it every day. Physical pain. Emotional pain. Spiritual pain. We see the pain caused by violence, injustice, poverty, loneliness, division, and fear. We hear about it in the news. We see it in the faces of people we love. Sometimes we carry it quietly in our own hearts. Every one of us has a story of pain. Maybe it is your own struggle. Maybe it is the suffering of someone you love. Maybe it is the suffering of a neighbor, a friend, or even a stranger. 
So today I want to begin with a simple question: Where does it hurt? Perhaps that sounds like a heavy way to begin a sermon. But I believe this question is at the heart of today's Gospel. There was a lot of pain in Jesus' world as well. Throughout the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus meets people who are hurting. He meets a father grieving the death of his daughter. A woman who had suffered for twelve years. A leper rejected by society. The sick, the poor, the forgotten, and the broken-hearted. And every time, Jesus stops. He notices. He listens. He responds. The Gospel tells us that Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching, preaching, and healing. Behind every healing was a person. Behind every miracle was a story. Behind every story was pain. Then Jesus looks at the crowds and has compassion for them. He sees that they are exhausted, burdened, and lost, “like sheep without a shepherd.” And then he says something surprising: “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” 
In other words, there is so much suffering in the world, and there are not enough people willing to enter that suffering with compassion. So Jesus tells his disciples: “Pray to the Lord of the harvest to send laborers into his harvest.” That sounds familiar, doesn't it? When people are sick, we pray. When families are struggling, we pray. When there is violence, war, or injustice, we pray. And we should pray. But notice what happens next in today's Gospel. Jesus barely gives the disciples time to say “Amen” before he sends them out. They pray for laborers. Then Jesus makes them the laborers. He turns them into the answer to their own prayer. And perhaps he is doing the same thing with us. 
Every Sunday we pray, “Thy kingdom come.” But are we willing to become part of the answer to that prayer? When we pray for peace, are we willing to be peacemakers? When we pray for healing, are we willing to bring comfort to someone who is suffering? When we pray for the lonely, are we willing to make room at our table? Prayer is not only something we say with our lips. Prayer is something we live with our hands, our feet, and our hearts. Jesus never turned away from suffering. He entered into it. He carried it. And he transformed it through love. The same compassion that moved Jesus is meant to move us. So I ask you again: What pain do you carry today? What pain do you see in the life of another? What pain do you see in our community? And what is God asking of you in response? Because the Kingdom of God is not an escape from the pain of this world. The Kingdom comes whenever compassion overcomes indifference. 
The Kingdom comes whenever someone is seen, heard, welcomed, forgiven, or loved. The Kingdom comes whenever we become the hands and feet of Christ. In a few moments we will pray once again, “Thy kingdom come.” As we pray those words, let us ask ourselves: How will I give my hands to that prayer? How will I give my feet to that prayer? How will I become part of God's answer today? Amen

Sunday, June 7, 2026

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 5, June 7, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, June 7, 2026




The journey of faith always begins with a call.  We see it with Abram in his encounter with a strange voice.  We see it with Moses before a flaming bush.  We see it with the prophets in all sorts of bazaar theophanies.  We see it with Jesus at his baptism.  We see it with Jesus’ disciples when he bids them, “Follow me.”  The call is given in an irrevocable summoning, but the response can go any sort of way.  We are free to say “yes” or to say “no,” to negotiate or maybe even to try to convince God why this is all might be a big mistake.  Yet, the call remains, and we are left with choices that will determine the course of our lives…and the lives of those who come after us…for generations to come. 

What is it about this call that can cause someone to act so utterly irrationally, so utterly contrary to normal expectations…Like Abram and Moses…Jesus and his disciples?  This is, I believe, the mysterious element at the heart of every religion and its most distinctive characteristic.  There would be no Hinduism or Buddhism without this mysterious summoning.  No Judaism, no Islam, and no Christianity.  And neither would there be any monasticism.  Every religious movement is ignited by the spark of this numinous, mysterious, existential demand that confronts us…some of us, with such conviction that we seem to be denied a choice in it at all…we are grasped by a God who simply will not let us go, and we are like Peter before Jesus, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

And, so, as God woos us along this wild journey of faith with promises of a better future…for lives of greater peace, greater joy, greater justice for all…we learn much about ourselves…and about those with whom we accompany along the way…and the intended maturation process begins.  All carefully designed by God, our journey of faith is not about getting there as quickly as possible, nor is it about getting there without ever taking a wrong turn…and it is certainly not about getting there first and leaving everyone else in the dust.  Our wilderness wandering is all about learning to discern the true and real value of life from all of the competing values and to learn to find the grace to finally lay all of our idols aside and embrace the one thing necessary alone and, in doing so, discover that the promises of God are actually not in some far distant future like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow but right here in our midst waiting to be discovered in our moment of spiritual awakening. The divine theophany at our calling, which gave us a foretaste of the promise to come, whose delight is usually obliterated by the squelching heat of the desert sun, is all directed to this…to the trying of our faith to discover a deeper type of faith which no longer finds life’s value in a projected future but in the here and now.  Taste and see!  There is a paradise in the middle of the vast, barren desert, and we discover that we are now standing on holy ground…and with Jacob we exclaim, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”  

“Listen…and you will arrive,” the first and final words of St. Benedict’s Rule for Monks, captures this journey of faith with perfect simplicity and perceptive insight.  Listen…and keep listening.  Listen deeply with the ear of your heart, for you have a father who loves you and has a promise to reveal to you.  Learn to put off the old self with its ears for titillation and gossip and become pure so that you can hear the deep, constant reverberations of divine love.  It’s the hearing, that tasting, and these sacred moments of encounter which bestow the grace to let go of the past which so seeks to cling to you and is where you will find the boldness to venture out into an unencumbered freedom where you will find yourself moving in the kingdom of God and not just toward it.

And this is the moment of insight…that moment when all becomes utterly clear and simple.  When the life that we lived with a plethora of competing allegiances is reduced to one, and we discover that the one thing necessary is not success, not prosperity, not notoriety; not a good name and not an honorable family; not the freedom to do what we want nor the health and means to do it.  It’s not the propagation and of our sacred traditions nor the strict adherence to them.  It is only one thing: faith working itself out through love.  

One thing that I have grown to appreciate more and more as I have reflected on my life as a monk over these past 15 years is that its integrity depends on its being rooted and grounded in precisely this and nothing else: faith working itself out in love.  The monastic vow is exactly that: conversatio: fidelity leading to love.  All of the various aspects of monastic life…and there are many behind which we can hide and evade our true calling…they all are assumed in the all-encompassing vow of conversatio morum: fidelity to the monastic way of life which blossoms in love.  It is not obedience.  It is not stability.  It is not celibate chastity.  It is not poverty or simplicity of life.  It is the commitment of my heart to give itself without compromise to the daily seeking of the face of God, the daily tasting of divine love, and the less romantic but as important daily struggle of humble service which keeps my heart beating with love and compassion and kindness and prevents it from taking refuge in whatever else may serve as a fake imitation of this love, however good in itself.  Obedience is not love.  Love bears fruit in obedience.  Stability is not love.  Love bears fruit in faithful stability.  Chastity and simplicity are not love.  Love bears fruit in chastity and simplicity.  Love, love, and love again.  This is the vow of a Benedictine monk.

Sometime in the middle of the 12th century, an English monk of immense spiritual depth and intellectual insight and the head of a lively community in the town of Rievaulx chronicled in one of the most beloved of monastic treatises of the Middle Ages the following: “The day before yesterday, as I was walking the round of the cloister of the monastery, the brethren were sitting around forming as it were a most loving crown.  In the midst, as it were, of the delights of paradise with the leaves, flowers, and fruits of each single tree, I marveled.  In that multitude of brethren I found no one whom I did not love, and no one by whom, I felt sure, I was not loved.  I was filled with such joy that it surpassed all the delights of this world.  I felt, indeed, my spirit transfused into all and the affection of all to have passed into me, so that I could say with the Prophet: ‘Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.’”

Aelred would then go on to compare this life of communal love with the kiss of Christ through his allegorical interpretation of the first verse of the Song of Songs: “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.”  The kiss represents the love of Christ outpoured through the Spirit, now binding brother to brother in love.  Spiritual friendship in the community of faith is the way that the Holy Trinity is glorified and made manifest.  And not only that, it is the way that God continues to live in the world of time and to transfigure it.

In the Gospel of Matthew we hear Jesus call Matthew himself to such a journey of faith leading to love…and we get a glimpse into the heart of his gospel message.  Jesus summons and sends to extend his presence of healing and deliverance, to restore justice and peace, and to make God’s dwelling of Trinitarian love among the human race.  

My beloved brothers…

We have encountered the divine in the theophany of our calling.  Each of us has heard the summons, and we have left all to follow Christ along this monastic way of the Lord’s service.  We have committed ourselves by a solemn vow to be faithful along this way: faithful to our God; faithful to our call as monks; faithful to one another.  We have each been given a task (some several tasks) in service to God and the community, and many demands have been placed upon our shoulders.  A sure sign that our fidelity is true is that these demands are not burdensome but delights, instruments through which our Lord lives in and through us his own faithful love and service.  This can only happen if our eyes and our hearts are focused upon the one thing necessary…upon faithful love…not our own but God’s for us.  We are not here just to be obedient, to give up our freedom and personal autonomy and desires.  We simplify our lives that we may focus them upon that one quality of life far exceeding all others…that which gives meaning and vitality to it.  We refuse the kisses of the crowds to receive the kiss of our Christ and to be filled with his Spirit.  And when this happens…and when we offer this kiss of faithfulness and love from brother to brother…a community of faithful love is formed and heart is bound to heart and God is glorified.

The call of God is always also a summons.  What are we as monastics summoned to do?  What is our evangelical imperative?  Do we not have one?  Have we, as sometimes accused, forsaken it looking up to heaven while the multitudes suffer and hunger for our help?  Not at all!  Our evangelical imperative is fulfilled in this:  in our love for one another.  “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”  Everything that we do and everything that we are flows from this well of grace…and when we’re doing it well, multitudes find healing and peace.  

Brothers, for nearly 150 years the spark of this love that found a place in the heart of our founder has persisted.  There have been seasons when that flame was but a flicker and others when it spread to nations far and wide.  This love that must burn is now seeking to burn anew in this new chapter in the OHC story about to begin.  What a privilege to be a part of this story…this story of faith showing forth itself in love.  Let us each receive this burning flame anew, remember our first love in our own calling, nurture it with ardent devotion, and share it with abandon.  Remember, there is never a reason to not choose to love.  If we choose it over bitterness and over animosity.  If we choose it over self-centeredness and self-assertion.  If we choose it over personal ambition and personal comfort…then the love of God revealed in the Holy Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ will reign supreme and the peace of God will keep our hearts bound one to the other and the joy of the Spirit will be our witness to a worried and wearied world that Christ is indeed risen over our shadowy existence with arms open wide bidding to one and to all through us, “Come, follow me…and you will find rest.”