Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Adam McCoy, OHC
The Solemnity of James Otis Sargent Huntington, OHC – Thursday 25 November 2010
Father Huntington has so many identities: social reformer, union organizer, political radical; preacher, spiritual director, confessor, priest; initiator of Church organizations; author; and to us in particular, founder and legislator and monk. Every one of these is worth our attention, but if we even skimmed each of them today, we’d be here far into the afternoon and the turkey would get cold. So I want to do something different. Instead of delving into his biography, I want to hazard some thoughts about his basic ideas, his core concepts, what made him tick.
When I first started paying attention to Father Huntington the thing that struck me was his confidence. That confidence was not so much in his own actions, though he was never afraid to say or do things he thought were right and constructive, regardless of their approval or not by others. But his confidence, it seems to me, was in something much greater. I think he believed something like this: Something important is waiting to be born into the world. Everything is interconnected, and so every action is significant, and is multiplied by association. Holiness is a particularly potent agent by which God is bringing about this something important.
The late Victorian era was very different from ours in many ways, and not least in its sense of almost infinite optimism. Great things were happening and about to happen. Knowledge was expanding daily. Transportation systems were spanning oceans and continents. New industries flourished everywhere. People were drawn in masses to North America by the promise of its amazing economic expansion. Educational, cultural, social and health care institutions were founded and quickly expanded. The rich were unimaginably rich, as they are today, but were still formally committed to the religious and moral systems of the general community. Social awareness was being developed as never before. It was a heady time for a young and privileged man like Huntington. His family background and Harvard, with the excellent social connections that flowed from them, gave him a platform. An awakened consciousness married to his native self-confidence gave him eyes to see and ears to hear.
And Anglo-Catholic religion gave him a voice to speak. It is difficult to recapture the excitement of the Anglo-Catholic movement of those days today. Its realization of the deepest meaning of the Incarnation gave to that movement the insight that the whole world was waiting to be shown its true identity: Not only is every individual human being made in the sight of God, but the entire human social enterprise is of the deepest interest to God. Every act of prayer cooperates with the divine energy. Every celebration of the Eucharist opens the saving heart of Jesus to the world. To join in the Anglo-Catholic project was to sign on for the transformation of the world. To pray was to engage in one’s own life the very powers of God for good, to unite the one who prays with God’s compassionate yearning for every straining, struggling life. It was to let loose the Holy Spirit and cooperate in the co-creation of the New Jerusalem.
Spurred on by his Anglo-Catholic convictions, by theologians like Frederick Denison Maurice and by social thinkers of the secular world, Father Huntington believed in interconnection, of God with the world and of people with each other. For him that connectedness was a gift of the Holy Spirit, whether consciously realized or not. He thought that when a person acted, it had far more effect than that person could know, but that people acting in groups were far more significant than individuals acting in isolation ever could be. It is why he believed in labor unions, why he founded organizations and worked with committees and believed in structural transformation as well as individual salvation. It is why he believed in Henry George and the Single Tax, which tied all value to the ownership of land. This might justifiably be regarded, in the inimitable words of President Bush the Elder, as voodoo economics, but I think it appealed to Father Huntington because in the Single Tax he saw economics as a universal connectedness. It is why he made Fr. Allen Superior of the Order on the day Fr. Allen, the second member of the Order was life professed. The group was more important than any single individual. He believed that nothing happens in isolation, and that when the weakest is made strong, all are made better. He believed that people in association, in mutual involvement, are different, and if acting for good, are better than when they act alone. I would not be at all surprised to find that in his meditations, Father Huntington would have come to believe that the God who is One in Three, the Savior who is both Human and Divine, are themselves models of the communal life God wishes for us.
The human community Father Huntington envisioned would never leave the weak, the poor, the exploited, the sick, the unfortunate, behind. Such a community would actively seek the well-being of all. The love of God requires the restoration of the weakest so that God may be all in all. For Father Huntington, the Gospel is in fact the key to human social relations, and when one joins this Gospel action, one is joining in the great mediatorial work of Christ.
For Father Huntington it was as important to put this work of Christ into practice in one’s personal life as in one’s public and social life. Holiness can be found anywhere, but a monastic community is its traditional workshop. For Father Huntington and the early members of the Order it was hard to know where external observance left off and internal growth began, and in this they were one with the great sweep of monastic life, from Anthony and Pachomius through Benedict and on, to Merton and others in our own day. Early Holy Cross men were renowned for a prayer and working life which left hardly a minute unscheduled. They were renowned for their austerity, and they were criticized for it, and some of them did not bear it well. But the best of them, the great ones of our past, found in the practice of strict self-giving the great liberation which ascetic practice can bring to a heart yearning for the ever clearer, fuller presence of God. Such a life opens the heart to God and through God’s presence the heart opens to the love of others. In the holiness of good monastic practice love for God grows as the self is sanctified, and at the same time so does love for the brethren. And that love inevitably and rightly overflows from the community to the world, seeking others with whom to share.
These themes come together to form a world-view, one which I think is basic to Father Huntington’s understanding. I can find no better expression of them in his writings than in a passage which is tucked away in the chapter in his Rule devoted to “The Devout Study of Ascetic Writers”. It is perhaps his best statement of the sacred inner meaning of the monastic life.
Let us listen and see if we can hear these themes. Let us listen to them with the ears of our hearts, as a loving father, our own loving father, speaks to us:
The Kingdom, for the coming of which we pray, advances not only by the conversion of sinners, but by the raising of some souls to great holiness of life. Holiness is the brightness of divine love, and love is never idle; it must accomplish great things. Love must act as light must shine and fire must burn.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
RCL - Proper 29C - Christ the King - 21 Nov 2010
Church of the Good Shepherd, Wantage, NJ
Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC
RCL – Proper 29 C - Christ the King – Sunday 21 November 2010
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Psalm 46
Luke 23:33-43
Christ our King
Today's feast of Christ the King is, I think, a somewhat curious one for Americans. We don't really understand kings or kingdoms and from our history we are almost immediately distrustful of the idea of a king. We were right to proclaim ourselves independent of King George III back in 1776, and to forge our way into political freedom. For ten years of my life I lived in Williamsburg, VA and right there on the Duke of Gloucester Street, in the center of Colonial Williamsburg, stands Bruton Parish, which dates to 1674 and is among the earliest Anglican parishes in the New World. The staff at Bruton revel in telling tourists that the then Rector, John Bracken, was the first Rector to take the Prayer Book, and cross out the name of King George III in the Prayers of the People, and write in its place that of John Hancock, the President of the Continental Congress.
One of the reasons we Americans are so opposed to the idea of a king is because it is seemingly written into our DNA to be opposed to tyranny. And having a king is equated to being controlled by a tyrant. Another reason this rubs us the wrong way is because a king indicates the presence of a kingdom and that means that our loyalties are subject to that kingdom, and not to our own freedom. Independence and individualization is particularly precious to Americans. We don't dare give that up. Most of all, I think we just rebel against the idea of someone, anyone, having unlimited power.
All in all, this feast of Christ the King then, seems like a tough one for many Americans. And yet, here we are: The last Sunday after Pentecost, a Sunday in which we begin our transition into the great mysteries of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter; a Sunday for which the Church has been pointing us towards for weeks, even months, now. A Sunday in which we proclaim Christ to be our King.
The image of Christ the King that is often presented to us in art is magisterial, powerful, Christ as the great Rule Giver, Christ as Judge. When I hear the words “Christ the King” I often think of the Roman Catholic Basilica in Washington, DC, the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, in which there is a giant mosaic of Christ as Judge and King – it, and many like it, is overpowering and rather intimidating.
Christ the King at Washington DC's Shrine of the Immaculate Conception
by Tuaussi
While these images of Christ the King are certainly out there in popular culture, in art, and even in some theologies, our readings this morning actually offer us a very different vision of what it means to proclaim Christ as King. The first reading, from the Prophet Jeremiah, lays out God's promise that “the days are surely coming, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king...” This reign was, in many ways, thought to be a reign that would be like that of King David's, and Jeremiah even tells us that during the reign of this new king, “Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety.”
Jesus is the fulfillment of all that the Prophets prophesy about and he does indeed come for the salvation of Israel – and the world. But his salvation is not that of a powerful king leading armies into battle. Christ's salvation is offered to us by coming to us as Jesus of Nazareth, a humble man, a working man, a man that is willing to live among us, love among us, die among us. Christ's salvation is offered to us in the form of Jesus' willing sacrifice on the cross, so that, as he told the repentant thief, we could be with him in paradise, today.
Like so much else in Christianity, when we delve more deeply into its message, we see that so much of reality is turned on its head. Christ simply will not let us get by with the status quo. Our definition of king is not enough. It may be a correct definition for an earthly king, but not for the King of the Jews, the King of Kings, the Eternal King.
That King is a king who, even while having nails driven into his body, so that he could be executed in a most hideous and humiliating way, was serving others by ministering to them in their hour of need. That King is a king who will forgive even those driving the nails into him for “they do not know what they are doing.” That King is a king who will acknowledge the thief's repentance by promising him a share in the Kingdom. That King is a king who forgives, leads others to salvation, and opens his arms to embrace all of humanity and offer them welcome into his Kingdom.
This weekend we have spent some time talking about the theme of “Praying in Anxious Times.” These are indeed anxious times, but no more anxious than many other periods of history were for the people who lived in them. Jesus Christ, our King, shows us the way to pray in anxious times. He calls on his Father. He asks God to forgive those who have tried to do harm to him. He encourages a repentant sinner and welcomes him back into the fold. These are all prayers. They are prayers of hope, prayers of forgiveness, prayers of service. Our King has given us a way to pray no matter how anxious the times, no matter our problems or the problems of the world around us.
The Psalmist sums up this attitude so well. Listen again to the first few verses of the psalm we prayed this morning:
When we find ourselves in trouble, in pain, suffering difficulties, in a state of sin, lost, lonely, or afraid, remember Jesus on the Cross. Remember that the establishment of God's Reign did not come in a powerful blast of shock and awe. God's Reign came in love, forgiveness, and total trust in God our Father.
This is our King's approach to faith. This is our King's invitation to each one of us to be part of that Kingdom of Faith. This is a Kingdom that I think any American, indeed any person around the world, could be part of. Not a Kingdom run by a tyrant who wages war on the people. No, this Kingdom is one that is led by a faithful God who welcomes us, loves us, forgives us, and saves us. This is a King named Jesus Christ.
AMEN.
Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC
RCL – Proper 29 C - Christ the King – Sunday 21 November 2010
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Psalm 46
Luke 23:33-43
Christ our King
Today's feast of Christ the King is, I think, a somewhat curious one for Americans. We don't really understand kings or kingdoms and from our history we are almost immediately distrustful of the idea of a king. We were right to proclaim ourselves independent of King George III back in 1776, and to forge our way into political freedom. For ten years of my life I lived in Williamsburg, VA and right there on the Duke of Gloucester Street, in the center of Colonial Williamsburg, stands Bruton Parish, which dates to 1674 and is among the earliest Anglican parishes in the New World. The staff at Bruton revel in telling tourists that the then Rector, John Bracken, was the first Rector to take the Prayer Book, and cross out the name of King George III in the Prayers of the People, and write in its place that of John Hancock, the President of the Continental Congress.
One of the reasons we Americans are so opposed to the idea of a king is because it is seemingly written into our DNA to be opposed to tyranny. And having a king is equated to being controlled by a tyrant. Another reason this rubs us the wrong way is because a king indicates the presence of a kingdom and that means that our loyalties are subject to that kingdom, and not to our own freedom. Independence and individualization is particularly precious to Americans. We don't dare give that up. Most of all, I think we just rebel against the idea of someone, anyone, having unlimited power.
All in all, this feast of Christ the King then, seems like a tough one for many Americans. And yet, here we are: The last Sunday after Pentecost, a Sunday in which we begin our transition into the great mysteries of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter; a Sunday for which the Church has been pointing us towards for weeks, even months, now. A Sunday in which we proclaim Christ to be our King.
The image of Christ the King that is often presented to us in art is magisterial, powerful, Christ as the great Rule Giver, Christ as Judge. When I hear the words “Christ the King” I often think of the Roman Catholic Basilica in Washington, DC, the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, in which there is a giant mosaic of Christ as Judge and King – it, and many like it, is overpowering and rather intimidating.
Christ the King at Washington DC's Shrine of the Immaculate Conceptionby Tuaussi
While these images of Christ the King are certainly out there in popular culture, in art, and even in some theologies, our readings this morning actually offer us a very different vision of what it means to proclaim Christ as King. The first reading, from the Prophet Jeremiah, lays out God's promise that “the days are surely coming, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king...” This reign was, in many ways, thought to be a reign that would be like that of King David's, and Jeremiah even tells us that during the reign of this new king, “Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety.”
Jesus is the fulfillment of all that the Prophets prophesy about and he does indeed come for the salvation of Israel – and the world. But his salvation is not that of a powerful king leading armies into battle. Christ's salvation is offered to us by coming to us as Jesus of Nazareth, a humble man, a working man, a man that is willing to live among us, love among us, die among us. Christ's salvation is offered to us in the form of Jesus' willing sacrifice on the cross, so that, as he told the repentant thief, we could be with him in paradise, today.
Like so much else in Christianity, when we delve more deeply into its message, we see that so much of reality is turned on its head. Christ simply will not let us get by with the status quo. Our definition of king is not enough. It may be a correct definition for an earthly king, but not for the King of the Jews, the King of Kings, the Eternal King.
That King is a king who, even while having nails driven into his body, so that he could be executed in a most hideous and humiliating way, was serving others by ministering to them in their hour of need. That King is a king who will forgive even those driving the nails into him for “they do not know what they are doing.” That King is a king who will acknowledge the thief's repentance by promising him a share in the Kingdom. That King is a king who forgives, leads others to salvation, and opens his arms to embrace all of humanity and offer them welcome into his Kingdom.
This weekend we have spent some time talking about the theme of “Praying in Anxious Times.” These are indeed anxious times, but no more anxious than many other periods of history were for the people who lived in them. Jesus Christ, our King, shows us the way to pray in anxious times. He calls on his Father. He asks God to forgive those who have tried to do harm to him. He encourages a repentant sinner and welcomes him back into the fold. These are all prayers. They are prayers of hope, prayers of forgiveness, prayers of service. Our King has given us a way to pray no matter how anxious the times, no matter our problems or the problems of the world around us.
The Psalmist sums up this attitude so well. Listen again to the first few verses of the psalm we prayed this morning:
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved,
and though the mountains be toppled into the depths of the sea;
Though its waters rage and foam,
and though the mountains tremble at its tumult.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our stronghold.
When we find ourselves in trouble, in pain, suffering difficulties, in a state of sin, lost, lonely, or afraid, remember Jesus on the Cross. Remember that the establishment of God's Reign did not come in a powerful blast of shock and awe. God's Reign came in love, forgiveness, and total trust in God our Father.
This is our King's approach to faith. This is our King's invitation to each one of us to be part of that Kingdom of Faith. This is a Kingdom that I think any American, indeed any person around the world, could be part of. Not a Kingdom run by a tyrant who wages war on the people. No, this Kingdom is one that is led by a faithful God who welcomes us, loves us, forgives us, and saves us. This is a King named Jesus Christ.
AMEN.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
RCL - Proper 29C - Christ the King - 21 Nov 2010
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC
RCL – Proper 29 C - Christ the King – Sunday 21 November 2010
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
Then one of the elders said to me: … “Look, the Lion of the tribe of Judah has conquered…”
And I saw…a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.
Well, it’s official. Prince William, second in line to the British throne and probable future King, has announced his engagement to Ms. Kate Middleton of Bucklebury, soon to Princess Catherine. It’s the stuff of dreams, isn’t it?
How well I remember the wedding of Charles and Diana thirty years ago…. Getting up at some ridiculous hour, watching the pageantry and parades and processions and the protocol, noting carefully the liturgy and music, checking out the vestments, and sharing in some mysterious yet vital way in a sense of history and romance come close to home, even if it was only on a 13” television set. It was, in so many senses of the word, an archetypal moment, capturing the world’s imagination and psyche. It was also a religious moment, especially for those of us who are Anglicans as well as Anglophiles.
Some of you may remember Archbishop of Canterbury Robert Runcie’s address to the couple, how he reminded them and us that there is an old Christian tradition that sees every couple, especially on their wedding day, as sovereigns of creation. He reminded them and us that, to this day in the wedding ceremony of the Eastern Orthodox churches, crowns are held over the bride and groom as symbols and reminders of the hidden glory and immense dignity that are intrinsic to marriage and indeed to any human relationship, human partnership, human loving… how it reflects and recapitulates Christ’s love for us, his Church.
There has, of course, been a lot of news coverage of the engagement, and it has ranged from the reasoned to the absurd. Among the best and most thought provoking was by Fr. Matt Malone, a Jesuit, in his blog (for America magazine) posted on November 19. Let me share a good part of it with you.
Our image of kings and kingship has varied widely from ancient biblical times on. I think, first, for example, of warrior kings like David or Shaka Zulu or traditional tribal rulers like the Ghanaian Asahantehene. I think of absolute monarchs like the Pharaoh of Egypt or aesthetes ike Louis XIV or that English mensch Henry VIII or even—it can happen—Prince Charles with his Camilla.
When we think king, what do we think? Wealth, power, subjects, privilege, deference and pride of place, certainly. We think gold and jewels and ceremony and the ability to do pretty much what you want. We think armies and wars of succession. We think beauty and occasionally wisdom maybe even a holiness that allows power and wealth and privilege to be used—albeit rarely—for the common good. We think authority. We think Shakespeare.
And it is this complex image—kingship—that we ascribe today to our Lord Jesus Christ… an image rich in overtones and promise and peril. It is an image that seeks to assure us in this world of injustice and poverty, of suffering and sin that these will not be the final truths. It both reassures and warns us that there is a judgment, that is, a right ordering or reordering that surpasses and corrects present reality, both our own and that of the collective. It speaks of a word—a final word, an eternal word—that is true and right and noble.
One of the most powerful ways of expressing this hope, this longing, this belief, this promise has been visually. Consider, for example, the Eastern Christian icon of Christ seated in glory, seated in judgment, seated on the clouds of heaven, book in hand, surrounded by angels, making all things new. It is the icon of righteous and effective power and liberating judgment. It is—rightly read—a promise of true restorative justice.
But in the canon of Eastern Christian iconography there is in fact only one icon that goes by the title “King of Glory”. We have a copy of it in our crypt, down below. And it is, on the surface at least, radically different from the icon of Christ seated in judgment.
It is in fact this…the icon know also as “Extreme Humility”
“Who is the King of Glory?” the psalmist asks (Ps. 24:8).
The King of Glory is none other than Christ crucified, head bowed, eyes closed, defeated, seated not on a throne but in his tomb. Humiliated to the utmost. And yet for us this is the King of Glory. As St. Paul says, cutting to the heart of the mystery of Jesus Christ and the mystery of our faith: “My power is made perfect, is completed and fulfilled, is known, in weakness.” And though we may resist it to our dying day, we must never forget that what is true of Jesus Christ and of St. Paul, is true of each one of us here today, is true of our institutions, is true of our world.
William Hart McNichols, S.J., himself a master iconographer, says of this icon:
“One could ponder almost any image of Christ, from his impoverished birth to his awful death and find humility. How do we begin to look again at the gospel of Jesus, totally in terms of his humility? This is exactly what this icon is asking us to do, from the point of view of a life completely poured out, wasted, emptied, we look again at everything.”
McNichols continues:
"This was not the Messiah Israel had hoped for, prayed for in the centuries of advent before. She, like us, wanted a leader who would embody power and destroy all enemies, the Lion of Judah who would smash them with the “iron rod.” What a terrible realization that the enemy was and is sin, that the iron rod was and is the Cross."
If Rene Girard is right in saying that all desire is mimetic, that is, copied, borrowed, learned…then we must be very careful as to what images of Christ the King we as church hold out for our admiration and veneration. The king seated in judgment is quite exciting and filled with hope and promise, especially for the wretched of the earth. The battle imagery is of Christ the Victor, and we may need that. But we will also and always need this as well if our desiring and dealings are to be life giving and redemptive… the image of Christ, the King of Glory, in extreme and utmost humility.
McNichols concludes:
“This image of Extreme Humility exposes and then begs to convert our lust for vengeance and power, our “culture of death” with its accompanying desire for wars and leaders of war. We along with Israel, and then ages of Christians after, call out for the Lion of Judah. Through the infinite mercy of God we are given the Lamb.”
The secret, of course, is that these are both the same icon. Identical. Different, but not different, as a Zen master might say. Or as Scripture tells us.
"Then one of the elders said to me: … “Look, the Lion of the tribe of Judah has conquered…”
And I saw…a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered."
The Lion and the Lamb are one.
Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC
RCL – Proper 29 C - Christ the King – Sunday 21 November 2010
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43
Then one of the elders said to me: … “Look, the Lion of the tribe of Judah has conquered…”
And I saw…a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.
Revelation 5
Well, it’s official. Prince William, second in line to the British throne and probable future King, has announced his engagement to Ms. Kate Middleton of Bucklebury, soon to Princess Catherine. It’s the stuff of dreams, isn’t it?
How well I remember the wedding of Charles and Diana thirty years ago…. Getting up at some ridiculous hour, watching the pageantry and parades and processions and the protocol, noting carefully the liturgy and music, checking out the vestments, and sharing in some mysterious yet vital way in a sense of history and romance come close to home, even if it was only on a 13” television set. It was, in so many senses of the word, an archetypal moment, capturing the world’s imagination and psyche. It was also a religious moment, especially for those of us who are Anglicans as well as Anglophiles.
Some of you may remember Archbishop of Canterbury Robert Runcie’s address to the couple, how he reminded them and us that there is an old Christian tradition that sees every couple, especially on their wedding day, as sovereigns of creation. He reminded them and us that, to this day in the wedding ceremony of the Eastern Orthodox churches, crowns are held over the bride and groom as symbols and reminders of the hidden glory and immense dignity that are intrinsic to marriage and indeed to any human relationship, human partnership, human loving… how it reflects and recapitulates Christ’s love for us, his Church.
There has, of course, been a lot of news coverage of the engagement, and it has ranged from the reasoned to the absurd. Among the best and most thought provoking was by Fr. Matt Malone, a Jesuit, in his blog (for America magazine) posted on November 19. Let me share a good part of it with you.
One of the amusing effects of this week's announcement that Britain's Prince William is going to marry his long-time girlfriend, Kate Middleton, is that every copy of the blue dress that Kate was wearing at their photo-op has disappeared. The shops here in London say that they sold out of the dresses within 24 hours of the latest event-of-the-century announcement. People understand why, of course, at least intuitively: everybody wants to be somebody and the somebody that everybody who's anybody wants to be this week is either partner in Britain's new royal couple.I’d like to reflect with you about this in terms of today’s feast: Christ the King.
For more than thirty years, however, a dedicated and growing group of scholars have been working on a theory that explains this kind of phenomenon more explicitly. These folks, a menagerie of cultural and literary critics, theologians, philosophers and sympathizers, are followers of Rene Girard, the French-American cultural critic, now easing his way into retirement after a successful teaching career at Stanford, among other places. Girard practically stumbled into an idea a few years back that he calls Mimetic Theory. The details are still being worked out…but the basic gist of the theory can be grasped by any ten-year-old, let alone the frenetic adults who were shaking down the racks at Harrod's this week.
The theory has three pillars:
First, Girard discovered, all desire is mimetic. Human beings copy one another, not just in terms of language, but in terms of what we want (apart from basic biological needs). The key here is that, strictly speaking, there are no desires that are your own. You get them all from others. Second, human conflict happens when the desires of multiple people converge on the same object. This is called mimetic rivalry and involves both objects we can see (that dress) and those we can't, such as a transcendent state of well-being (happiness). Third, this mimetic rivalry can plunge a whole community or society into crisis and this crisis is resolved through what Girard calls 'the scapegoat mechanism:' One person, then another, and then a whole group of people point the finger of suspicion at one individual, the sacrificial victim, who is then expelled or destroyed. This restores order to the community. …
Admittedly, that is all pretty bad news: we are, by nature, not really free and worse, we are prone to pretty brutal forms of violence. Well, maybe we suspected all of that anyway. The good news, however, is that according to Girard, there is a way out of all of this: the Gospel. In the words of one Girardian… Michael Kirwan, S.J.: "the gospel is the biblical spirit that exposes the truth of violent origins, takes the side of the victim and works toward the overcoming of scapegoating as a viable means of social formation." In other words, the life, death and resurrection of Jesus subvert the whole ghastly enterprise.
Our image of kings and kingship has varied widely from ancient biblical times on. I think, first, for example, of warrior kings like David or Shaka Zulu or traditional tribal rulers like the Ghanaian Asahantehene. I think of absolute monarchs like the Pharaoh of Egypt or aesthetes ike Louis XIV or that English mensch Henry VIII or even—it can happen—Prince Charles with his Camilla.
When we think king, what do we think? Wealth, power, subjects, privilege, deference and pride of place, certainly. We think gold and jewels and ceremony and the ability to do pretty much what you want. We think armies and wars of succession. We think beauty and occasionally wisdom maybe even a holiness that allows power and wealth and privilege to be used—albeit rarely—for the common good. We think authority. We think Shakespeare.
And it is this complex image—kingship—that we ascribe today to our Lord Jesus Christ… an image rich in overtones and promise and peril. It is an image that seeks to assure us in this world of injustice and poverty, of suffering and sin that these will not be the final truths. It both reassures and warns us that there is a judgment, that is, a right ordering or reordering that surpasses and corrects present reality, both our own and that of the collective. It speaks of a word—a final word, an eternal word—that is true and right and noble.
One of the most powerful ways of expressing this hope, this longing, this belief, this promise has been visually. Consider, for example, the Eastern Christian icon of Christ seated in glory, seated in judgment, seated on the clouds of heaven, book in hand, surrounded by angels, making all things new. It is the icon of righteous and effective power and liberating judgment. It is—rightly read—a promise of true restorative justice.
But in the canon of Eastern Christian iconography there is in fact only one icon that goes by the title “King of Glory”. We have a copy of it in our crypt, down below. And it is, on the surface at least, radically different from the icon of Christ seated in judgment.
It is in fact this…the icon know also as “Extreme Humility”
“Who is the King of Glory?” the psalmist asks (Ps. 24:8).
The King of Glory is none other than Christ crucified, head bowed, eyes closed, defeated, seated not on a throne but in his tomb. Humiliated to the utmost. And yet for us this is the King of Glory. As St. Paul says, cutting to the heart of the mystery of Jesus Christ and the mystery of our faith: “My power is made perfect, is completed and fulfilled, is known, in weakness.” And though we may resist it to our dying day, we must never forget that what is true of Jesus Christ and of St. Paul, is true of each one of us here today, is true of our institutions, is true of our world.
William Hart McNichols, S.J., himself a master iconographer, says of this icon:
“One could ponder almost any image of Christ, from his impoverished birth to his awful death and find humility. How do we begin to look again at the gospel of Jesus, totally in terms of his humility? This is exactly what this icon is asking us to do, from the point of view of a life completely poured out, wasted, emptied, we look again at everything.”
McNichols continues:
"This was not the Messiah Israel had hoped for, prayed for in the centuries of advent before. She, like us, wanted a leader who would embody power and destroy all enemies, the Lion of Judah who would smash them with the “iron rod.” What a terrible realization that the enemy was and is sin, that the iron rod was and is the Cross."
If Rene Girard is right in saying that all desire is mimetic, that is, copied, borrowed, learned…then we must be very careful as to what images of Christ the King we as church hold out for our admiration and veneration. The king seated in judgment is quite exciting and filled with hope and promise, especially for the wretched of the earth. The battle imagery is of Christ the Victor, and we may need that. But we will also and always need this as well if our desiring and dealings are to be life giving and redemptive… the image of Christ, the King of Glory, in extreme and utmost humility.
McNichols concludes:
“This image of Extreme Humility exposes and then begs to convert our lust for vengeance and power, our “culture of death” with its accompanying desire for wars and leaders of war. We along with Israel, and then ages of Christians after, call out for the Lion of Judah. Through the infinite mercy of God we are given the Lamb.”
The secret, of course, is that these are both the same icon. Identical. Different, but not different, as a Zen master might say. Or as Scripture tells us.
"Then one of the elders said to me: … “Look, the Lion of the tribe of Judah has conquered…”
And I saw…a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered."
The Lion and the Lamb are one.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
RCL - Proper 28C - 14 Nov 2010
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC
RCL – Proper 28 C – Sunday 14 November 2010
Isaiah 65:17-25
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
I Am About To Create New Heavens and a New Earth
Ancient peoples have long studied both the stars and the concept of time and have found them to be somehow related to one another, though that relationship is often wondrously clouded in mystery. Christians are, of course, an ancient people. And monastics are among the most ancient of Christians. And we monastics have for nearly the entire history of our faith, been looking to the sky and to the past and to the end times to understand our faith in the present.
And so, this week, as I was preparing my sermon and focusing particularly on the passages from Isaiah and Luke, with their revelations of end times and new orders, I was thrilled by an article that appeared in the New York Times, and in many scientific journals. I'd like to read to you from the first few paragraphs of the way Space.com reported on a new discovery:
“I am about to create...” sounds to me like an imminent event, something that will happen in the very short term. “The end will not follow immediately” sounds more like an event that will occur in the future – perhaps a considerable amount of time into the future.
And so all of this, the article regarding the giant bubble emitting gamma rays, the highest wavelength of light; and today's Scriptures, the promise of the light of heaven ever expanding throughout the universe, has me studying the sky and meditating on various concepts of time – just like the ancient monks.
And so, first I wanted to go back and study up a little on the definition of a light-year, which is actually a phrase that is used for the casual astronomer, not the scientist. Astronomers actually prefer the term parsec, which is, apparently, a more precise way of measuring. But for our purposes this morning, a light-year is, according to the International Astronomical Union, the distance that light travels in a vacuum in one Julian year.
One light year is equal to six trillion miles. Meaning that these “bubbles” that have been found are equal to 150 trillion miles each, for a total of 300 trillion miles. God's Name be praised!
Trying to comprehend all of that is really not much easier than trying to comprehend the idea of time that is presented to us in the Gospel of Luke. In the passage that we read today, just fourteen verses, some aspect of time, either in the past or in the present, is mentioned seven times. This obsession with time that the Gospel writer seems to have certainly grabbed my attention.
In poking around for some theological explanation of time, I came across an essay written by a Father Patrick Reardon, an Eastern Orthodox priest from Chicago entitled, “Chronos and Kairos.” These are two words used in Greek for “time.” What we English speakers use one word for – time – the Greeks use two words for.
Chronos is the word used to describe “time on the move, time as before and after, time as the future passing through the present and so becoming the past.” The English words chronic, chronicle, and chronology derive from chronos. “Measurement is one of the distinguishing characteristics of chronos, which is a quantitative concept. Time that cannot be measured is not chronos.”
Kairos, on the other hand, is “qualitative rather than quantitative...[it is] significant rather than dimensional.” It cannot be measured because it implies the idea of quality, rather than quantity. It cannot be measured, Father Reardon tells us, because kairos is always a now. A now is, and can only be, the present moment. I think now can't be measured, or held onto, or even fully understood. Now is mystery and it is all we have.
And that leads me back to our readings from the Prophet Isaiah and from St. Luke. These are two of God's children who know how to communicate mystery. And the mystery we are contemplating today is none other than theosis - what St. Athanasius explained as “The Son of God becoming man, so that man might become god.” That, I think, is what the creation of new heavens and a new earth is all about. That is, what the wolf and the lamb feeding together is all about, that is what nothing being allowed to hurt or destroy on God's holy mountain is all about. It is a total remaking of the entire cosmos into God.
So if some of us, like myself, are all caught up in the great mysteries, in kairos, in the cosmos, how do all of us, including myself, live a life of faith in a world in which we must earn our own keep, make our own way, and tend to the daily grind just to keep body and soul together.
Enter St. Paul. In his Second Letter to the Thessalonians, he makes it quite clear when he exhorts the members of that community to “do their work quietly and to earn their own living.” And on top of that, they are not to be “weary of doing what is right.” Work is holy. It is good.
This was a particularly popular theme with our ancient father in the faith, St. Benedict – who gave us the Holy Rule that our community lives by today. What he called the opus dei, the work of God is, first and foremost, the worship of God. That's why we come here into this church to do what we do five times a day in our Offices and in the Holy Eucharist. Our entire being is to be made available to God each and every day so that we can be remade into God.
And this Holy Eucharist that we celebrate today is the exact kairos – the exact now – when all this will take place. For we are only given the now – this kairos – and to spend our now worshiping God and opening ourselves to the reality of being changed into Christ's Body is to open ourselves to the greatest act of faith.
This obedience to listen to God, a monk's first vow, in order to be totally stable within the now, a monk's second vow, is what brings about our conversion into Christ's Body, a monk's third vow. Monastic vows are a little sacrament that point all of God's people to the ultimate reality of Isaiah's vision. That reality in which within each one of us and throughout the cosmos, new heavens and a new earth are being created even as I speak to you. The discovery of two giant bubbles at the center of the Milky Way emitting the highest wavelength of light is a sacrament that point to that reality as well.
In fact, all of God's Creation is a sign that we are indeed in the End Times. That Time when all of Creation is transformed into the exact image that God desires – an image of love, an image of peace. This is not marked in chronos – we do not know in chronological time if the End will come tomorrow or in 10,000 years, or in a million years. But we do know this great Reality, our ultimate destination is in the act of becoming. All we have to do is read the signs being trumpeted from every news outlet: wars and insurrections; earthquakes, plagues and famines; God's people being arrested, tortured, persecuted and murdered in places like Iraq and China.
But the only way to get to this, our Future, is to live in the now. To be present to God who makes himself available to us right here in the now. Our liturgy this morning is the perfect sacrament for us to live into the now. In this gathering, where more than two or three have assembled, we know that we can see Jesus present among us. In the Scriptures we just heard, we know that the Word is being made into our own flesh. In the Eucharist that we are about to share, we know that God will transform bread and wine into Christ's Presence, allowing us to eat and drink that Presence and so be recreated into that presence.
Ancient people have ancient wisdom, given to us by God, proclaimed by the Prophets, fulfilled in Christ. This is a wisdom that transforms all of God's Creation into new heavens and a new earth right here in the now. When we hear Father Bede preside at the altar shortly, we are going to hear him pray “Your Spirit moved over the deep and brought all things into being: sun, moon, stars; earth, winds, and waters; and every living thing.” Then, a little later, we will hear him pray “Now gathered at your table, O God of all creation, and remembering Christ, crucified and risen, who was and is and is to come.”
When we pray those words with Bede we are uniting the past, present, and future, indeed all of creation, into the now in a great mystery that reminds me of those gamma rays emitting the highest wavelength of light. But no matter how great those wavelengths are, they cannot possibly compare to the wavelength of light that is from God, that is God, in which God allows us to bask. A Light that is in the very act of changing us into light, right here in the now.
Amen.
Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC
RCL – Proper 28 C – Sunday 14 November 2010
Isaiah 65:17-25
2 Thessalonians 3:6-13
Luke 21:5-19
I Am About To Create New Heavens and a New Earth
Ancient peoples have long studied both the stars and the concept of time and have found them to be somehow related to one another, though that relationship is often wondrously clouded in mystery. Christians are, of course, an ancient people. And monastics are among the most ancient of Christians. And we monastics have for nearly the entire history of our faith, been looking to the sky and to the past and to the end times to understand our faith in the present.
And so, this week, as I was preparing my sermon and focusing particularly on the passages from Isaiah and Luke, with their revelations of end times and new orders, I was thrilled by an article that appeared in the New York Times, and in many scientific journals. I'd like to read to you from the first few paragraphs of the way Space.com reported on a new discovery:
Scientists have detected two gigantic bubbles of high-energy radiation spilling out from the Milky Way's center that may have erupted from a super-massive black hole.And so, it seems, the discipline of astronomy has as mysterious a revelation in this latest find, as does the discipline of theology in the context of our readings today. “For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth” from Isaiah and “When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately” from Luke, seem to all be summed up in the statement of Jesus that “there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”
The mysterious structures each span 25,000 light years across, meaning that together they cover more than half the area of the visible sky, and are emitting gamma rays, the highest energy wavelength of light.
The bulbous features may be evidence of a burst of star formation a few million years ago, researchers said. Or they may have been produced when a super-massive black hole in the center of our galaxy gobbled up a bunch of gas and dust.
The newly discovered structures remain an enigma for now, scientists said. “We don't fully understand their nature or origin” said study leader Doug Finkbeiner of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.
“I am about to create...” sounds to me like an imminent event, something that will happen in the very short term. “The end will not follow immediately” sounds more like an event that will occur in the future – perhaps a considerable amount of time into the future.
And so all of this, the article regarding the giant bubble emitting gamma rays, the highest wavelength of light; and today's Scriptures, the promise of the light of heaven ever expanding throughout the universe, has me studying the sky and meditating on various concepts of time – just like the ancient monks.
And so, first I wanted to go back and study up a little on the definition of a light-year, which is actually a phrase that is used for the casual astronomer, not the scientist. Astronomers actually prefer the term parsec, which is, apparently, a more precise way of measuring. But for our purposes this morning, a light-year is, according to the International Astronomical Union, the distance that light travels in a vacuum in one Julian year.
One light year is equal to six trillion miles. Meaning that these “bubbles” that have been found are equal to 150 trillion miles each, for a total of 300 trillion miles. God's Name be praised!
Trying to comprehend all of that is really not much easier than trying to comprehend the idea of time that is presented to us in the Gospel of Luke. In the passage that we read today, just fourteen verses, some aspect of time, either in the past or in the present, is mentioned seven times. This obsession with time that the Gospel writer seems to have certainly grabbed my attention.
In poking around for some theological explanation of time, I came across an essay written by a Father Patrick Reardon, an Eastern Orthodox priest from Chicago entitled, “Chronos and Kairos.” These are two words used in Greek for “time.” What we English speakers use one word for – time – the Greeks use two words for.
Chronos is the word used to describe “time on the move, time as before and after, time as the future passing through the present and so becoming the past.” The English words chronic, chronicle, and chronology derive from chronos. “Measurement is one of the distinguishing characteristics of chronos, which is a quantitative concept. Time that cannot be measured is not chronos.”
Kairos, on the other hand, is “qualitative rather than quantitative...[it is] significant rather than dimensional.” It cannot be measured because it implies the idea of quality, rather than quantity. It cannot be measured, Father Reardon tells us, because kairos is always a now. A now is, and can only be, the present moment. I think now can't be measured, or held onto, or even fully understood. Now is mystery and it is all we have.
And that leads me back to our readings from the Prophet Isaiah and from St. Luke. These are two of God's children who know how to communicate mystery. And the mystery we are contemplating today is none other than theosis - what St. Athanasius explained as “The Son of God becoming man, so that man might become god.” That, I think, is what the creation of new heavens and a new earth is all about. That is, what the wolf and the lamb feeding together is all about, that is what nothing being allowed to hurt or destroy on God's holy mountain is all about. It is a total remaking of the entire cosmos into God.
So if some of us, like myself, are all caught up in the great mysteries, in kairos, in the cosmos, how do all of us, including myself, live a life of faith in a world in which we must earn our own keep, make our own way, and tend to the daily grind just to keep body and soul together.
Enter St. Paul. In his Second Letter to the Thessalonians, he makes it quite clear when he exhorts the members of that community to “do their work quietly and to earn their own living.” And on top of that, they are not to be “weary of doing what is right.” Work is holy. It is good.
This was a particularly popular theme with our ancient father in the faith, St. Benedict – who gave us the Holy Rule that our community lives by today. What he called the opus dei, the work of God is, first and foremost, the worship of God. That's why we come here into this church to do what we do five times a day in our Offices and in the Holy Eucharist. Our entire being is to be made available to God each and every day so that we can be remade into God.
And this Holy Eucharist that we celebrate today is the exact kairos – the exact now – when all this will take place. For we are only given the now – this kairos – and to spend our now worshiping God and opening ourselves to the reality of being changed into Christ's Body is to open ourselves to the greatest act of faith.
This obedience to listen to God, a monk's first vow, in order to be totally stable within the now, a monk's second vow, is what brings about our conversion into Christ's Body, a monk's third vow. Monastic vows are a little sacrament that point all of God's people to the ultimate reality of Isaiah's vision. That reality in which within each one of us and throughout the cosmos, new heavens and a new earth are being created even as I speak to you. The discovery of two giant bubbles at the center of the Milky Way emitting the highest wavelength of light is a sacrament that point to that reality as well.
In fact, all of God's Creation is a sign that we are indeed in the End Times. That Time when all of Creation is transformed into the exact image that God desires – an image of love, an image of peace. This is not marked in chronos – we do not know in chronological time if the End will come tomorrow or in 10,000 years, or in a million years. But we do know this great Reality, our ultimate destination is in the act of becoming. All we have to do is read the signs being trumpeted from every news outlet: wars and insurrections; earthquakes, plagues and famines; God's people being arrested, tortured, persecuted and murdered in places like Iraq and China.
But the only way to get to this, our Future, is to live in the now. To be present to God who makes himself available to us right here in the now. Our liturgy this morning is the perfect sacrament for us to live into the now. In this gathering, where more than two or three have assembled, we know that we can see Jesus present among us. In the Scriptures we just heard, we know that the Word is being made into our own flesh. In the Eucharist that we are about to share, we know that God will transform bread and wine into Christ's Presence, allowing us to eat and drink that Presence and so be recreated into that presence.
Ancient people have ancient wisdom, given to us by God, proclaimed by the Prophets, fulfilled in Christ. This is a wisdom that transforms all of God's Creation into new heavens and a new earth right here in the now. When we hear Father Bede preside at the altar shortly, we are going to hear him pray “Your Spirit moved over the deep and brought all things into being: sun, moon, stars; earth, winds, and waters; and every living thing.” Then, a little later, we will hear him pray “Now gathered at your table, O God of all creation, and remembering Christ, crucified and risen, who was and is and is to come.”
When we pray those words with Bede we are uniting the past, present, and future, indeed all of creation, into the now in a great mystery that reminds me of those gamma rays emitting the highest wavelength of light. But no matter how great those wavelengths are, they cannot possibly compare to the wavelength of light that is from God, that is God, in which God allows us to bask. A Light that is in the very act of changing us into light, right here in the now.
Amen.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
RCL - Proper 27C - 07 Nov 2010
Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Bernard Jean Delcourt, OHC
RCL – Proper 27 C – Sunday 07 November 2010
Haggai 1:15b-2:9
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17
Luke 20:27-38
By the mouth of the prophet Haggai, God tells us; My spirit abides among you; do not fear.
These days, I frequently read a French translation of the Bible that attempts to cleave more closely to Hebraic literary styles. This translation (by the late French Jew Andre Chouraqui) has Haggai’s message as (my translation in English);
My breath rises within you, quiver not.
I will ruminate this godly entreaty as we consider our readings today.
And I enjoin you; let God’s breath rise within you!
Quiver not, for God’s desire is to make us all his children, and heirs of his Kingdom. The way is laid out before us: live into the Holy Spirit’s sanctification, believe in the truth, and follow Jesus.
The Beloved says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Today’s gospel recounts one of the many instances of challenge and riposte in Jesus’ journey. The public challenge is usually a crafty presentation of a situation with a question. The question is usually designed to stump the one who is challenged or to force him to expose flaws in his thinking. It’s another honor transaction where the winner gains honor and the loser gets shamed.
Jesus comes out of this instance of challenge and riposte with heightened credibility and honor in the eyes of the onlookers. And as is often the case, Jesus uses his riposte to not only shame the would-be shamers but also to teach the teachable who are witnessing the challenge.
This time, it is the Sadducees who offer him a challenge. It can’t always be the Pharisees who get cast as the bad guys! The Sadducees were a priestly group, an aristocratic sect associated with the leadership of the Temple in Jerusalem. They and the Pharisees didn’t always see eye to eye. But they agreed on the opinion that Jesus was a troublemaker that Jesus needed to be curbed.
In today’s encounter, the Sadducees hope their challenge will force Jesus to make a response that shows gaping cracks in his teaching about resurrection (which the Sadducees did not believe in).
Jesus’ response silences his sadducean dissenters; but not before Jesus also opens up the glory of our hope as children of God.
God tells us: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Jesus tells us about the age to come. In the age to come, we are like angels and are children of God, we are children of the resurrection, we cannot die anymore.
But Jesus does not deflower the mystery of this age to come. How we are to be resurrected, when, and in what form, is not revealed in this text. Our fully human Saviour does not attempt to wear out the mystery of God’s actions.
Yet, Jesus assures us that all those “deemed worthy“ of adoption by God will be alive to God. In case you missed it, in this text, we are kept wondering whether we will be adopted or not.
I take comfort in the expression “deemed worthy”. It speaks to me of God exercising judgement beyond a legalistic assessment of whether I am actually worthy or not. If God deems me to be worthy, that will be good enough. And what I believe about God makes me think that God will exercise a lot of leniency in that “deeming” whether we are worthy or not.
And remember, sacraments such as baptism and the Eucharist, in which we will take part shortly, renew to us the generous offer of God’s grace to us, the ongoing offer of our adoption, the grace of our salvation. God ardently desires us to be saved.
Still, we are always left free to live into that grace, or not. God desires us to live in Him forever. Indeed, that is our purpose. And God continuously works on our souls to enable us to live into that purpose.
One needs to be awe-struck at such a magnanimous God who gives us utter freedom and yet shows concern and constant love for God’s creatures. Hopefully, we keep giving our full assent to God’s working in us and we fully collaborate in his generous design.
But often enough, I’m afraid to say, it seems to me God has to work on my soul even despite myself.
But our Lord says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
There are ways, though, to help us participate in the wonder of God saving our souls. The beauty of contemplative prayer, for example, is to help us to consent to God’s working in us. Such prayer reminds us to keep intending to be present to God’s presence. It asks us to keep our awareness on this moment in which God is actively at work through us whether we feel it or not. It asks us to return again and again to consenting to that presence and that action. It is an image of the journey of ongoing conversion.
*****
In Luke’s gospel today, Jesus also suggests that human institutions, even very good ones, are only transitory instruments of our salvation. Mariage is certainly not condemned here but neither is it made to be an eternal truth. No human institution is to curtail the eternal grace of God. We are to work out our purpose in this age, maybe through its existing institutions. But neither the present age nor any of its institutions are to become the object of our adoration; no matter how profitable to our souls they may seem to us.
Don’t get too attached to your “dream life” as you dream it in the here and now. God’s dream for us is likely immeasurably bigger and different than most of it anyway.
We are to unflinchingly focus on God’s desire not ours. We need to remain oriented to God and let God lead us in all things. We are to embrace our adoption here and now; that we may enjoy it forever in God.
Our God says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
In studying today’s gospel throughout the week, I found yet another hopeful gift to me. I realized that we cannot but imagine God’s coming age in terms of our own experience of time.
And God doesn’t need time, one of God’s nifty creations, for the coming age to be present to God. God is God not of the dead, but of the living. Already in the time of Moses, Jesus reminds us, forebears of Israel were alive to God. It is only in my present experience of time that the age to come seems to lay in the future. The age to come is already actual and present to God.
And if, as myself, you hope that some of your bygone beloved are forever adopted in God, it is a consoling concept to imagine them currently alive to God and interceding for us to become worthy of such adoption.
*****
So, in one single answer to the Sadducees of his time, Jesus has rejected our anxiety to figure out God’s rising Kingdom. And all the while, Jesus is flinging open the gates of a wondrous adoption to eternal life in God. Thanks be to God for the stupendous offer that is always before us.
The Lover of All Souls says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Let us finish with the Apostle Paul’s prayer on behalf of his Thessalonian flock:
Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word. (2 Thessalonians 2:16-17)
Amen.
Br. Bernard Jean Delcourt, OHC
RCL – Proper 27 C – Sunday 07 November 2010
Haggai 1:15b-2:9
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17
Luke 20:27-38
By the mouth of the prophet Haggai, God tells us; My spirit abides among you; do not fear.
These days, I frequently read a French translation of the Bible that attempts to cleave more closely to Hebraic literary styles. This translation (by the late French Jew Andre Chouraqui) has Haggai’s message as (my translation in English);
My breath rises within you, quiver not.
I will ruminate this godly entreaty as we consider our readings today.
And I enjoin you; let God’s breath rise within you!
Quiver not, for God’s desire is to make us all his children, and heirs of his Kingdom. The way is laid out before us: live into the Holy Spirit’s sanctification, believe in the truth, and follow Jesus.
The Beloved says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Today’s gospel recounts one of the many instances of challenge and riposte in Jesus’ journey. The public challenge is usually a crafty presentation of a situation with a question. The question is usually designed to stump the one who is challenged or to force him to expose flaws in his thinking. It’s another honor transaction where the winner gains honor and the loser gets shamed.
Jesus comes out of this instance of challenge and riposte with heightened credibility and honor in the eyes of the onlookers. And as is often the case, Jesus uses his riposte to not only shame the would-be shamers but also to teach the teachable who are witnessing the challenge.
This time, it is the Sadducees who offer him a challenge. It can’t always be the Pharisees who get cast as the bad guys! The Sadducees were a priestly group, an aristocratic sect associated with the leadership of the Temple in Jerusalem. They and the Pharisees didn’t always see eye to eye. But they agreed on the opinion that Jesus was a troublemaker that Jesus needed to be curbed.
In today’s encounter, the Sadducees hope their challenge will force Jesus to make a response that shows gaping cracks in his teaching about resurrection (which the Sadducees did not believe in).
Jesus’ response silences his sadducean dissenters; but not before Jesus also opens up the glory of our hope as children of God.
God tells us: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Jesus tells us about the age to come. In the age to come, we are like angels and are children of God, we are children of the resurrection, we cannot die anymore.
But Jesus does not deflower the mystery of this age to come. How we are to be resurrected, when, and in what form, is not revealed in this text. Our fully human Saviour does not attempt to wear out the mystery of God’s actions.
Yet, Jesus assures us that all those “deemed worthy“ of adoption by God will be alive to God. In case you missed it, in this text, we are kept wondering whether we will be adopted or not.
I take comfort in the expression “deemed worthy”. It speaks to me of God exercising judgement beyond a legalistic assessment of whether I am actually worthy or not. If God deems me to be worthy, that will be good enough. And what I believe about God makes me think that God will exercise a lot of leniency in that “deeming” whether we are worthy or not.
And remember, sacraments such as baptism and the Eucharist, in which we will take part shortly, renew to us the generous offer of God’s grace to us, the ongoing offer of our adoption, the grace of our salvation. God ardently desires us to be saved.
Still, we are always left free to live into that grace, or not. God desires us to live in Him forever. Indeed, that is our purpose. And God continuously works on our souls to enable us to live into that purpose.
One needs to be awe-struck at such a magnanimous God who gives us utter freedom and yet shows concern and constant love for God’s creatures. Hopefully, we keep giving our full assent to God’s working in us and we fully collaborate in his generous design.
But often enough, I’m afraid to say, it seems to me God has to work on my soul even despite myself.
But our Lord says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
There are ways, though, to help us participate in the wonder of God saving our souls. The beauty of contemplative prayer, for example, is to help us to consent to God’s working in us. Such prayer reminds us to keep intending to be present to God’s presence. It asks us to keep our awareness on this moment in which God is actively at work through us whether we feel it or not. It asks us to return again and again to consenting to that presence and that action. It is an image of the journey of ongoing conversion.
*****
In Luke’s gospel today, Jesus also suggests that human institutions, even very good ones, are only transitory instruments of our salvation. Mariage is certainly not condemned here but neither is it made to be an eternal truth. No human institution is to curtail the eternal grace of God. We are to work out our purpose in this age, maybe through its existing institutions. But neither the present age nor any of its institutions are to become the object of our adoration; no matter how profitable to our souls they may seem to us.
Don’t get too attached to your “dream life” as you dream it in the here and now. God’s dream for us is likely immeasurably bigger and different than most of it anyway.
We are to unflinchingly focus on God’s desire not ours. We need to remain oriented to God and let God lead us in all things. We are to embrace our adoption here and now; that we may enjoy it forever in God.
Our God says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
In studying today’s gospel throughout the week, I found yet another hopeful gift to me. I realized that we cannot but imagine God’s coming age in terms of our own experience of time.
And God doesn’t need time, one of God’s nifty creations, for the coming age to be present to God. God is God not of the dead, but of the living. Already in the time of Moses, Jesus reminds us, forebears of Israel were alive to God. It is only in my present experience of time that the age to come seems to lay in the future. The age to come is already actual and present to God.
And if, as myself, you hope that some of your bygone beloved are forever adopted in God, it is a consoling concept to imagine them currently alive to God and interceding for us to become worthy of such adoption.
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So, in one single answer to the Sadducees of his time, Jesus has rejected our anxiety to figure out God’s rising Kingdom. And all the while, Jesus is flinging open the gates of a wondrous adoption to eternal life in God. Thanks be to God for the stupendous offer that is always before us.
The Lover of All Souls says: My breath rises within you, quiver not.
*****
Let us finish with the Apostle Paul’s prayer on behalf of his Thessalonian flock:
Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word. (2 Thessalonians 2:16-17)
Amen.
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