Christmas 1 B - Dec 28, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Borden, OHC

Christmas 1 B, Sunday, December 28, 2014

Isaiah 61:10-62:3 
Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7 
John 1:1-18 

Mouse, Br. Scott's cat

I had a pretty clear idea what I wanted to say in a sermon this Sunday – until just a few days ago... And then something else presented itself to me causing me to think – now there is a good idea for a sermon... but I already knew what I wanted to say... So I've decided to do the thing you are never supposed to do... I will preach both sermons. I'm sure that is a good idea... Don't worry – both sermons will be short.

The idea that presented itself to me just a few days ago was in the form of a cat. A cat named Mouse to be specific. Mouse has been a monastery cat for several months now. She spent the first several years of her life as a Rectory cat, so this is a new job for her. And she takes her work very seriously.

She is a social sort of kitty and feels a need to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the second floor of the enclosure. She tends to lurk outside the bathrooms, which would be creepy if she were not a cat... and she likes to lead folks on walks and hold rather loud conversations. But for all of that friendliness, she has not really been very affectionate.

Then on the morning of Christmas eve, she decided it was time to sit in my lap. This was really a first. And she sat quite happily for more than 20 minutes... I was, to say the least, please and honored. Cat affection, when offered, is always sincere, because a cat really can't be bothered to try to butter you up.

So as Mouse sat in my lap, letting me rub her face and purring quietly, I thought to myself – what a lovely Christmas gift... And that is the sermon that threw itself at me... It is a lovely gift. And all she had to do was simply show up and be present. It made me extremely happy and joyful.

I am quite convinced that cats (and I suppose I have to admit other animals as well) teach us a great deal about God. Cats, for example, teach us about unconditional love, not because they offer it, but because they accept it. What I realized, as Mouse sat quietly in my lap for those wonderful 20 minutes, is that the joy I felt is, perhaps, a reflection of what God feels when we show up and are present.

I think of those shepherds who showed up and were present at the manger... and I think of those disciples the garden at Gethsemane who couldn't stay awake – couldn't be present. Showing up and being present – a gift we dare not underestimate. That is the first sermon...

Now the second sermon... the one I first wanted to preach... started with with something else that caught my attention. I saw a posting from a religious organization of some sort or other that boldly proclaimed that “Jesus is the very best present of all...” illustrated with a picture of a lovely bright red box wrapped with ribbon and bow... and my reaction was different than my reaction to mouse...

This message just seems wrong in so many ways... It reduces Jesus to some sort of gift-wrapped notion stuck under the tree by God's little helper – Santa... It reduces the Word that becomes flesh and dwells among us to something that fits in a box – albeit a very nice box. That is a small Jesus indeed. Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords... but Present of presents... not so much.

I have become increasing fascinated by the dual nature of Christmas... there is Sacred Christmas, built around the mystery of Jesus. And then there is secular Christmas – built around an orgy of shopping. Secular Christmas needs to blur the lines between the two – so that it can rub some of the beauty and wonder of the Sacred on itself.

Christmas trees and manger scenes intermingle with candy canes and mistletoe and reindeer and gingerbread houses and toy soldiers... Figuring out what, if anything, these might have to do with the Word made flesh is, shall we say, difficult...

Perhaps it is a good that secular Christmas seeks to rub against the sacred. Secular Christmas is not an evil thing – its just shallow. Even the most secular of people can be touched by Christmas – they can, even if they hardly know it, be touched by the Word.

But I'm not done disparaging the Jesus as present concept. I've saved the worst for last... Secular Christmas teaches us absolutely that we are entitled to presents that we want and that make us happy.

Some presents will fall into that politely named category of “unfortunate.” Many retailers assure us that we can give the perfect gift, because the recipient can return the “unfortunate” gift, no questions asked, for something they actually want... Secular Christmas has succeeded when I get just exactly what I want...

Jesus is many things, but Jesus, to be honest, is not just exactly what I, or any of us, really want. Jesus challenges us, questions us, makes us uncomfortable.
The disappointment with Jesus is quite clear in his lifetime. It leads to crucifixion...

Many of the faithful of Jesus' time wanted a powerful savior, a super hero if you will, who would come and crush the Romans. They didn't get what they wanted. According to the rules of Secular Christmas, they will have to get in line to see customer service for an exchange...

Many of us have ideas about who or what we would like Jesus to be. There is the blond-haired, blue-eyed Jesus who is sweet and nice all the time – gift exchange... There is Jesus who loves me so very much that he wants me to be extremely rich – gift exchange... The Jesus who causes my favorite sports team to win... The Jesus who tramples my enemies under his feet... The Jesus who cures cancer... The Jesus who feeds the hungry so I don't have to... When it comes to Jesus as present, I'm afraid we all have something to take to the customer service window... We're all in line for the gift exchange.

The Word does not become flesh to make us happy. Jesus doesn't seek to make us over into better versions of ourselves – Jesus comes to make us new... Encountering the Word made flesh transforms us, and not necessarily in the ways we want.

But if Jesus in just the greatest present of all, than we don't have the Word made flesh – we have flesh made into word. We are making God over into what we want, rather than being transformed by our encounter with God.

So that is the second sermon – the one I first wanted to preach... and Mouse gracing my lap with her presence you may recall was the first, which threw itself in front of me second...

But they aren't, really, two separate sermons... I hope you don't feel suddenly cheated.

All creatures on earth – and above the earth and in the oceans and beneath the earth – all creatures are part of creation and, undeniably an expression of their creator. I think Luke, in his telling of Jesus birth, underscores this by the presence of the animals. This is their creator. This is their manger. The Word is made flesh and dwells among them too. All things come into being through the Word of God.

Mouse can teach me about God because she is an expression of God's holy Word. Don't tell her that... she already believes she is queen of her universe.
Secular Christmas is part of Christmas – it may be the part that is most in need of redemption – but that is why Word becomes flesh. God doesn't come to visit because we are just irresistible and always fun to be around... God dwells among us because we need to be touched by God... because we need redemption.

Emanuel, God with us, the Word made flesh makes us whole. Secular Christmas has only happiness to offer – which is simpler and can fit under the tree...

But the real gift is that we show up and are present just as Mouse did a few mornings ago... We show up with those who are hungry, with those who are being treated unjustly, with those who are sorrowful, or unpleasant, or powerless... in this way we encounter Jesus, the Word made flesh. And so we are transformed.

Christmas Eve - Dec 24, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Peter Rostron, OHC

Christmas 1 B, Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Isaiah 9:2-7 
Titus 2:11-14 
Luke 2:1-14(15-20) 

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God

Well, our wait is over. Christmas is here. This is indeed a joyous day and season, and it has me thinking back to my Christmas holidays as a child. The season of Advent, as I remember it, took a distant second place compared to “the big day,” and what I was waiting for then is quite different than what I wait for now as an adult and as a monk. Back then, the main business of Advent was making sure my list of gifts was complete so that Santa Claus, and later my parents, would know what to leave for me under the tree. There was the anticipation of a vacation from school and perhaps some snow to go along with it. There was a tree to buy, and there were decorations to put up. There were Christmas songs playing on the radio, holiday performances at school, houses covered in lights, and, of course, the big holiday television programs: Frosty the Snowman, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. And movies like Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, and It’s a Wonderful Life.

Today, as my Christian faith has matured and as I move further along in my monastic vocation, my experience of Advent and Christmas is quite different than it was then. It is quieter and simpler and it is about the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ rather than about getting and giving all the right gifts. And I’ve been pondering how these two different versions of Christmas might be related to one another. How do my childhood past and my adult present mesh as experiences of the same event? And what might that say about this event of Christmas? 

A useful approach, I thought, might be to look at the stories that belong to each of them. Consider those old TV shows and movies, which are still remarkably popular today. They certainly do not seem to have much to do with the birth of Jesus, yet they genuinely resonate with people at this time of year, and they do seem to offer some of what Jesus represents: forgiveness, repentance, love, generosity, charity, even eternal life. Frosty melts away but lives on in the children’s hearts. The Grinch has a complete change of heart and becomes a loving and generous figure. George Bailey is pulled from the depths of despair to a renewed love of life by his guardian angel, Clarence. Even now, I still think of these stories fondly. They may not be biblical, but they do sit well as companions to a celebration of Christ’s life because of the truths that they speak.

And that is the essence and the function of a story: to speak truth to us, to tell us something about our condition, about our lives, about our hopes and fears and loves. And this is true for works of fiction or nonfiction, for books or movies, and regardless of whether or not they present actual events or accurate facts. Today’s gospel reading was a story of Jesus’s birth told by Luke. There is a different story in the gospel of Matthew. And even though these two stories are different in fact and detail, both speak the truth, of the miraculous birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Of an angel reassuring someone to not be afraid and giving them a path or a course of action to follow. Of people going on a journey in search of safety or new life. Of a child being born who is the Messiah. It’s not really important if this child was born in a barn or in a room in a house, nor whether it was shepherds or wise men or kings who came to greet him and to proclaim him. Whatever the details, the one truth that we are remembering and reliving tonight, the birth of the Messiah, comes to life in Matthew’s and Luke’s gospels. By immersing ourselves in these stories, we bring an event from 2000 years ago into the present. We experience some of the joy, amazement, hope, and love of that moment when Joseph and Mary welcomed their newborn son, the son of God.

And in doing so, this story of Jesus’s birth becomes part of our own story, our own truth. For stories do not exist just on paper or on film or, now, stored in digital files. They are being acted out all around us, and we soak them up. They play an integral role in how we see ourselves and how we make decisions. Consciously or not, we visualize ourselves in stories, we identify with characters, and our own decisions and behavior are inspired by the events in stories - in books we read, in TV shows and movies we watch, even in the gossip we hear and the video games we play and the sporting events we attend. We are immersed in stories, we absorb elements of them, and we are shaped by them as we write the stories of our own lives. 

The birth of Jesus is the foundational story for us as Christians: God in human form. It is the essence of our faith that we are the body of Christ, that Jesus exists within each of us. I believe that when we celebrate and relive the birth of Christ at Christmas we are, in part, celebrating and reliving our own birth. And our own birth was and is part of God’s greater act of creation that is still ongoing. This is a living story, and it includes us. The universe is still expanding, and God is still creating, creating new life and new ideas and new ways of being. We are his agents in the world. You know that intense feeling of joy that one can experience in the presence of a newborn baby. That is a reflection, I believe, of a deep-seated awareness that we are each still in the process of being born, or perhaps you might say re-born, and Jesus with us. We desire and are capable of feeling the same freshness and sense of infinite possibility that sits at the beginning of a newborn’s life. Unlike a baby, of course, we are not innocent. We have a lifetime of accumulated hurts and disappointments and regrets and sins. As we stand in the presence of the newborn baby Jesus at Christmas, we are reminded of our intimate connection with God, of the joy of new life within us, of God’s creation within us. Jesus’s story is our story. Jesus’s birth is our birth.

That is the magic of Christmas. This baby, Jesus, was a great gift to us from God, a gift that is God, given by our creator as the most concrete expression of love imaginable or possible. It was given in the form of a man with the hope that through his life as God incarnate we might be freed from sin and shown the way to eternal life. The only way for us to make sense of and record and share such an amazing act is through the telling of a story. And this story of Jesus’s birth, whether it is Matthew’s or Luke’s or some combination thereof, is a story for and about and of us. And even those other Christmas stories - the ones told by cartoon specials and old black and white movies, the story of Santa Claus, and even our modern, misguided story of a consumerist frenzy of shopping and gift-giving - can be traced back to the same, single truth: the truth of God’s boundless love for us. The truth that was fully revealed to us in the birth of the baby Jesus: the ultimate gift, the ultimate story, a story worthy of being told and lived over and over again, forever. Merry Christmas!

Advent 2 B - Dec 7, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

Advent 2 B, Sunday, December 7, 2014

Isaiah 40:1-11

2 Peter 3:8-15a

Mark 1:1-8

John the Baptist preaching

The Gospel last Sunday was focused on the future return of Christ. Things could not get any more cosmic; everyone “from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven” will see the coming and be shaken. Advent starts off with a big, collective, cosmic bang about what awaits the world.

Today as we continue the Advent journey we shift from future hope backwards in time to promise fulfilled. John the Baptist, the bridge figure between the prophets of the Old Testament and the preparation for Messiah breaks the 400 years of prophetic silence that preceded him with a different kind of bang, crying "prepare" "repent" "accept God’s forgiveness". The essential message and call in both Gospels is the same; Jesus is coming, so wake up and be about conversion, reconciliation, and peace – get ready. But the means John uses to receive and express this preparation is, especially in this time and culture, surprising and unsettling.

John's invitation is not merely for a change of mind. He knows we are not disembodied intellects, but flesh and blood people. A physical sign, baptism in the Jordan, is the public witness of the inner change of heart. John is calling the people to faith expressed in action and action that nurtures faith. For the writer of the Gospel and for John, the spiritual meaning and the physical act must go together -

sins are forgiven because of baptism in water and baptism in water is a sign that sins are forgiven. I remember attending confirmation classes at St. James’ Episcopal Church in 1993 and learning about emergency baptism. Any baptized Christian can baptize anyone if there is a danger that the unbaptized is near death. Two things must be present: the name of the Trinity and water. The priest said, "If there is no water around, use your spit, but there has to be some matter."

A harmonious relationship between the physical and the spiritual is the basis for spiritual maturity. As I work with retreat groups and directees, I am more and more aware of the danger in our culture of a dis-embodied, individualistic spirituality. It shows up in the belief that “spiritual” is contained within the safe external confines of doctrine, information, church, and within me only as it reinforces my personal positions. This and this alone is what God cares about. The rest is left up to me and me alone to figure out, possess, and manage. Whatever that theology is, it is not the good news. Individualistic relativism splits me from you and splits my beliefs from objective reality. The power of John the Baptist calling Israel into repentance and into the water is to show us that the coming of the Gospel is not to our individual heads - the Gospel brings harmony between the spiritual and the physical, between the individual and the community.

Because we are so information and analysis-driven, this is very weird to us.

If we lived in John's time and heard him, we might be tempted to analyze and question: What does repentance mean? What are the costs and benefits of a new way of life? Can I have some kind of assurance that I won't suffer or be mistreated? Will I be safe and secure? Do you have a website? We stand forever at the shore, thinking about the how’s and what ifs rather than getting in the water. What story after story in the gospel declares is that faith exists in those who act without ever knowing the outcome of their faith other than God is and will be with them. And that is why the gospel springs from the muddy water of the Jordan and not the Temple or the religious elite – as an indictment on those with the so-called answers and power and control. The Gospel begins with a different way to see the world, one that smashes false categories like “spiritual” and “ordinary”, “God’s” and “mine”. John is the image of the harmonized man – the only category is the divine.

Our temptation to rarely to cruelty or crime, it is more often the allure to be selectively virtuous, cautious; moving in and out of awareness, proclaiming ourselves good enough, and content to stand safely on the riverbank of spiritual growth. I’ll be spiritual on my own terms, thank you very much. Repentance, then, is the restructuring of my perception so that I may act in the reality of the sacredness of the whole world, not what I decide is sacred. It is the willingness to see in the waters of the Jordan River or the crowded aisle of the grocery store or in the desperate stare of a friend a sign; an invitation to depend on God's help, receive it, and share it.

St. Benedict picks up this theme in the Rule. All of the monk's life is oriented around being present to God's presence; therefore all of life is ritual sign, the harmony of physical and spiritual. In the chapter on the cellarer, the brother in charge of the tools and supplies, he writes, "he will regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected." Benedict is the image of the harmonized man – nothing is ordinary, everything is pulsating with the divine. Benedict has been liberated from the illusion that there is such a thing as ordinary, such a thing as “my terms”. His heart was awakened and he saw truly.

As is true in any healthy monastic community, as you have seen this weekend, our life here is infused with all kinds of ritual signs, but it is in our liturgy that the physical and spiritual most dramatically come together. Liturgy is about the celebration of the God-designed harmony between matter and spirit. Liturgy brings our divided perception back into reality after we have drifted off into selfish individualism. We enter the church past bowls of holy water, we see icons, candles, smell incense, we bow, we sit silently, stand, sing or recite psalms, listen - all with the intention of being prayerfully aware of God's presence, listening for God's voice. We don't absolutely need the symbols in this church or the gymnastics of our particular form of prayer in order to connect to God. But we do all of this for a reason. We are not just thinking about or interiorly processing the liturgy, we are acting it out as well. We practice regarding ourselves, our brothers and guests, and God’s creation as sacred. We use body, mind, and spirit in worship because they are meant for worship. We are recognizing the connection between the spiritual and the physical. We are acting ourselves into a new way of being, getting down into the Jordan River of commitment and community and manifesting through the material what is happening inside.

These various ritual signs and acts carry us along, especially when we stand thinking at the shore, as I often find myself. On those days when my faith is not very strong, when I don't feel like it, or am wondering through my own personal desert - I show up anyway. Even before I enter this church I dip my finger in the holy water and make the sign of the cross and say to myself "I am a baptized member of the Body of Christ, I am a new creation, I am loved and accepted by God, I resolve, with God's help, to live out my place in the Body and in this community with humility, obedience, love, and joy..." With God’s help I don't wait until I understand what it means, until I know what will happen, until I feel like it. I don't say "this is not working for me". I don’t demand God on my terms. I ask God to take me once again to the river, to the place of repentance, forgiveness, and community - of getting wet with the Gospel. I trust the water to do its work. I act in the faith that beyond my struggles, my feelings, my desire to just fall asleep, is love offering his hand, welcoming me, always welcoming - all of me, and eventually I am awakened and brought to myself and reminded that I am forgiven and accepted and that all will be well even if I don't know how or when.

The water, the sacredness that dwells within it and that works on you and me, has done what I could not do for myself. The promise of Baptism past is in that moment made present and its future fulfillment, its hope becomes my hope. Heaven and earth, flesh and spirit touch each other. There is no more ordinary. The world is full of the sacred vessels of the altar. Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

Advent 1 B - Nov 30, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Magliula, OHC
Advent 1 B, Sunday, November 30, 2014

Isaiah 64:1-9

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Mark 13:24-37

The ambo and Advent wreath in the monastery church - 2013

On this first Sunday of Advent, the Church begins its telling of the Christian story once again. It begins with the prayer of the prophet Isaiah that is both a lament and a plea. He portrays a God in history that does awesome deeds, which often surprise God’s people. Yet the people have forgotten to call upon God. Isaiah’s words remind them and us that God is and has been faithful and present. Waiting with hope, Isaiah prays that God will be visible in their midst again.

Beginning Advent with this prayer jolts us out of ordinary time with the invasive news that it’s time to think about fresh possibilities for deliverance, conversion, and wholeness. But one cannot get there without becoming vulnerable along the way. It’s so easy to be seduced away from this season by the superficial trappings of Christmas, which already surround us. Cards portraying spotless and cheerful travelers and pristine stables assure us of automatic peace and joy, assuming that we are open and ready to receive it. The journey to Bethlehem is not a smooth, clean, and painless one. To reach the cave of the Nativity, we enter first through what the desert elders called the cave of our own hearts. It is there that we meet the Christ, only after we have met ourselves. It’s a trip we take in stages, with the temptation to rest, at some pleasant oasis on the way, far from the hard and dirty work of traveling in a wilderness. 

Our humanity is a messy business, far more complex than we’d like to admit. This season magic childhood memories enter into play.  Every year my brothers and I would obsess  on the things that would make our lives complete. All we had to do was ask for it and show up to collect them under the tree on Christmas morning. We had no doubt that our parents would make our dreams come true. They were reliable like that. It never dawned on us what sacrifices they made to satisfy those desires----which in retrospect were hardly deep.  Our society not only encourages, but also heavily promotes that immature, self-centered mentality at this time of year with an obsessive focus on the receiver, not the giver. It’s appropriate for a child, but not an adult.

If we are to benefit from Advent in any way, it must be a time to be attentive daily to the presence of God already among us. Israel’s longing is ours. Like Israel we wait, want, and expect to see the face of God. Like them we also take our detours on the way to our deepest desire, which is for God.  And as with Israel, God is passionately patient with us.

Advent eventually takes us to Bethlehem, but it begins by traversing the cosmos.  In the very beginning of the story, we are given a glimpse of its ending. This season has always held in tension God’s judgment and God’s promise. The advent wreathe itself is like a ticking clock, reminding us of the time we have left to wake up, pay attention, and prepare. 

The Gospel, which is a portion of what is often called “the little apocalypse,” puts us in the presence of the adult Jesus offering both prophetic judgment and prophetic comfort. Hearing him anticipate the end times when heaven will literally quake and stars will begin to fall out of the sky is intended to shock us into wakefulness. Christ does not come without us risking conversion and change. Christ’s coming disrupts business as usual. Like Mary and Joseph we are driven from our comfort zones, our carefully laid plans. More often than not, a crisis can be a grace-filled event, as it was with them, an opening for a new coming of Christ into our lives.

It can seem strange, at first, to begin our anticipation of the birth of Jesus by being exhorted to wait for his coming again. In one important respect, however, it is entirely fitting, because it places us squarely with those who awaited the birth of the Messiah. Neither those who awaited the first coming of the Messiah, nor those of us who now await his return know the day or hour of his arrival. There was and is a need to live in a continual state of watchfulness. By anticipating the return of the Son of Man here, at the start of Advent, we wait in the same way as our ancestors did for the Christ.  We also join them in hearing---and needing---the same exhortation to be watchful and to keep awake. As at Bethlehem, God is always showing up in unlikely, even in unpromising places.

Waiting for Christ to come, or to come again, requires an expectant watchfulness, an active not a passive waiting. Active waiting is full of expectation, of anticipation. It implies a kind of readiness to receive, to be open to what’s coming, even when we can’t imagine or engineer what it will look like. That’s the kind of waiting Jesus had in mind when he told his followers, “Beware, keep alert: for you do not know when the time will come.”

It’s clear that Jesus doesn’t expect us to predict that time. Rather, he is urging us to live as if his return is just around the corner. Living between two advents, we can’t forget that he came in the first place. There is an “already and not yet” quality to the divine drama in which we live. Already Jesus has established the means through which we are drawn into relationship with God, but not yet do we live in complete communion with God. Already the realm of God is evident, but not yet is that realm fully established.

Advent is intended to be a time of new hope and new birth when the Christ is ultimately born into our hearts. We who have to live in the “already” and “not yet,” summon the courage and strength to remember that the holy breaks into the daily only by keeping awake and alert, by living our lives in accord with the one who has already come, died, and been raised.  God is not found in distant glory but in the truth of our lives here, today. God is never far away, but with us, indwelling on our side, and for us, more than we are for ourselves. So we do not lose heart; rather we live with our hearts broken open so that compassion and God’s reckless love can find a way into our hearts, and through us, into the heart of the world. In so doing, not only will we be prepared to live in the promised realm of God when it comes, but we may experience, even now, some of what life in the realm will be like.  +Amen.

Solemnity of James Otis Sargent Huntington, OHC - Nov 25, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Brother Roger Stewart, OHC
Solemnity of James Otis Sargent Huntington, OHC - November 25, 2014 


Nehemiah 5:1-12
Galatians 6:14-18
John 6:34-38

James Otis Sargent Huntington

One hundred and thirty years ago, James Otis Sargent Huntington made his Life Profession in the Order of the Holy Cross, and a great adventure began that continues to this day.

The prophet Nehemiah also began a great adventure by responding to reports of the bad and demoralized condition of the survivors after the captivity and ruin of Jerusalem. He had not advanced his rebuilding project very far when he became aware that relationships among the people were not right. He could not continue until he had corrected the injustices.

From the start of his ordained then professed ministry, Father Huntington worked in situations in which rampant social injustice was all too apparent. His first efforts went into doing all he could to improve the lot of the downtrodden, and his fame as a Christian social pioneer remains widespread. He threw himself into both challenging the oppressors of his day and stirring up the Church of his day to work for justice.

I think that both Father Huntington and the prophet Nehemiah were motivated by what they would have called the fear of God, a phrase that is no longer in fashion. Nehemiah addressed his prayer to Yahweh, God of heaven, the great and awe-inspiring God who keeps a covenant of faithful love with those who love him and obey his commandments. Both Nehemiah and Father Huntington knew that social injustice is incompatible with life in God's kingdom.

It pleases me that our Founder's Day falls between Christ the King on Sunday and Thanksgiving Day on Thursday this week. The vision of God in the form of our risen, ascended, glorified Lord Jesus Christ whom we worship and obey was a significant part of Father Huntington's spirituality. On Sunday morning, we heard the following from 1st Peter during Matins: Proclaim the Lord Christ holy in your hearts, and always have your answer ready for people who ask you the reason for the hope that you have. Father Huntington wrote a Rule for an Order of monks who would respond to that call.

In his chapter on the Vow of Obedience in the Rule, Father Huntington wrote: The opportunity for this surrender is afforded in our community life. We are to die to our isolation and separateness as individuals, that we may live in the energies of a mystical body wherein the life is one, and that the life of Jesus, our Head. The community is thus our means of entrance into union with our ascended Lord.

My visit to communities of our Order in the US has given me the rare opportunity to live within and yet be alongside those communities, to experience and also observe their life. I had the privilege while at Mount Calvary Monastery in Santa Barbara, CA, of attending the life professions of the first members of the Community of Divine Love, and so witness how the life of our Order has somehow spilled over into that new community. I also had the privilege of attending the funeral of our Br. Nicholas, and so witness how much our Order's presence in that part of the country has mattered and continues to matter to people there.

What matters, wrote the apostle Paul in our reading from Galatians, is a new creation: faith working through love. Earlier in the letter, he wrote: We are led by the Spirit to wait in the confident hope of saving justice through faith. … Be servants to one another in love. … Carry each other's burdens; that is how to keep the law of Christ.

I have seen the sights in New York City. I have seen the Fall glory of the Adirondacks. I have seen the vastness of the Pacific Ocean from the heights of New Camaldoli near Big Sur. But in my time here living in and with the community of Holy Cross Monastery, I have seen something I think even more wonderful than those wonders.

It has been said that a society or an institution must ultimately be judged by how it treats its most vulnerable members, not those with access to power and privilege. I have seen how members of this community try to support the more vulnerable ones, with compassionate gentleness and a self-giving presence.

I had the privilege of attending group meetings in which the community somehow managed to create a safe space for its members to talk honestly about their lives, physical, emotional and spiritual. There was a real intimacy and vulnerability with one another.

I had the privilege of attending a community meeting in which the progress of the newest members was evaluated. Whatever other aspects of their life in community might have been considered, their kindness always seemed to be a significant factor. See how they are learning to love.

I have even had the privilege of attending a house meeting in which the community discussed its business affairs for the coming month. I was moved by the sense of a family deciding together. Who knew a house meeting could be a source of encouragement?

I have heard a senior member of the community declare that he feels he has nothing left to say … and then preach beautifully out of a different place within himself. I have heard an older member preach so movingly about the tenderness of God's relationship with him. I have heard a veteran member preach the light in a Scripture passage I thought didn't have any.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he. These words from the prophet Zechariah rang out during the Office of Matins on Sunday, to be followed by: Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope!

I'm not sure exactly what those words would have meant to Zechariah's hearers, but I love the sound of them. When I hear them, I have the image of the monastery as a stronghold and of the monks as prisoners of hope.

I think the strength of the guest ministry here and the testimony I have heard from various guests indicate the effect that the encounter with such a community has on those who come within its influence. I myself have experienced the genuine welcome and generous hospitality.

After the prophet Nehemiah had seen to the rebuilding of the walls of his own stronghold, the scribe Ezra read from the Law of Moses. The gathered people were moved to tears by what they heard, but Nehemiah stopped their weeping. “Today is sacred to our Lord,” he insisted. “Do not be sad; the joy of Yahweh is your stronghold.”

After a solemn ceremony of expiation and a communal renewal of commitment to its God, the rebuilt wall was dedicated and it is recorded that: There were great sacrifices offered that day and the people rejoiced, God having given them good cause for rejoicing … and the joy of Jerusalem could be heard from far away. Thanksgiving Day is on Thursday. Just saying.

Father Huntington said the following during a retreat address here at West Park: We are to think of ourselves as charged with a peculiar and important responsibility to carry to others what we have received on their behalf. … We are taken apart because we are called into a special relation with God. But, once established in that relation, we are to find that He is tremendously concerned about the world, and that He would have us share in His effort to save it. … God is working there. Can it be right for us to turn away in indifference from what He is doing? Must we not rather be eager to recognize His action and to know by His Spirit how we are to cooperate with Him? Knowledge of the world, knowledge of God's work in the world, knowledge of what He wants us to do in the world – these are the lines on which our minds must work. … All this involves effort, time and courage. We must be at pains about it. It must be the business of our lives. It must unify our lives.

Blessed James Huntington, intercede for us.


Amen.

Funeral of Br. Nicholas Radelmiller - Nov 9, 2014

Sermon for the Funeral of Br. Nicholas Radelmiller, OHC

Preached at Trinity Church, Santa Barbara, CA
By Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC
On Sunday, November 9,2014

Br. Nicholas Radelmiller

A little over a week ago I received an email from an old friend—we first met in seventh grade and have kept in touch ever since.  In it he told me of the passing of his mother Verna at age 97.  Verna was a formidable figure, very direct, very plain spoken, in some ways not unlike our Brother Nicholas.  I remember vividly a discussion that Verna and I had about death and the afterlife.  Even at age 14 I fancied myself a theologian of no mean ability, and I was explaining to Verna how life after death and heaven was really all about the soul being in union with God, with the corollary that hell was the soul separated from God. Verna, who was a Southern Baptist, heard me out and then said, “Bob, I don't know about you, but I want my gloried body.” Well, I was taken aback—this wasn't the way we talked about or thought about such things.  It sounded, even to my 14 year old ears, a bit simplistic, even materialistic. But a strange thing happened.  Over the years and as I have grown older, I have become more and more like Verna. More and more like her I want, and find in the Christian message, a thoroughly earthy hope for a future that is, however mysteriously, embodied, enfleshed, in some way continuous with this life, but transformed, redeemed, transfigured, resurrected...or in Verna's words: glorified.

Of course our language fails us as much as it enlightens us when it comes to matters of faith, and nowhere perhaps more so than when we get to speaking about and reflecting on our hope beyond death. So we look to Scripture and tradition and to Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of our faith.  And what does that tradition tell us?  What does it offer us?

First it offers us an assurance that the souls of the righteous, the very center of life, are not lost, never lost, but are held in God's heart, treasured up for all eternity.  The story—your story, my story, Nick's story—is not forgotten.  And no matter what may have transpired on this side, no torment will have power over the souls of the righteous.  They dwell, they live, they abide in God's healing love, and God watches over them.

Second, as we hear from St. Paul in his letter to the Corinthians, we experience even now, even in this life, something of this promise.  Though the body, our outward nature, fails and fades, renewal is happening.  We saw this with our brother Nicholas as he got weaker and then rallied and got weaker again over the years.  He was being prepared for “an eternal weight of glory.”  And so are we.  Like St. Paul, we hope that the mortal is not annihilated but further clothed, indeed swallowed up by life.

And Jesus himself tells us that our final home is in his Father's house, where there are many dwelling places, many mansions, and that he has gone to prepare a place for each of us and that he will come and bring us home.  

All this language, of course, points beyond itself.  It is poetic, evocative and indirect.  But it does point to something very real, something all about life, fullness of life, the fulfillment of life. No wonder Verna wanted her glorified body.  Who can imagine such a rich tapestry of life without a body to enjoy it, to share it, to delight in it?

Our brother Nicholas certainly loved life, living in this less-than glorified, though nonetheless amazing body that is ours.  As many of you know, Nick grew up on a farm in Eastern Washington State.  In his application to join our Order he added: “This never much appealed to me."  So off he went to university in Seattle.  Not raised in any religious tradition, Nick was baptized as a 17-year old convert, and that faith remained with him in his college years.  It was a very interesting time for him, and Nick enjoyed his friends.  And as you might expect of Nick, some of them were quite exotic.  One of his roommates had been a dancer in the court of the Dalai Lama!    

Nick was drawn to ordained ministry, graduated from Nashotah House seminary, and then went into parish work in the Seattle area.  It was not a happy experience for him, alas, and after some further parish work in Wisconsin, he resigned his ministry, returned to Seattle and applied to enter the Order of the Holy Cross.  I was struck by his response to one of the questions on the application: What is your motive for joining the community?  Nick answered:  “...to live in Community and to do and be something worthwhile.”

This was his motive, and I believe that it remained his motive throughout his life.  It was not always easy. Community life had its challenges for Nick, as it does for everyone.  These challenges drove him out to do some interesting things...to study Spanish and to minster in Ecuador for two years, to spend a year in a monastery in the UK, to live as chaplain to the Sisters at St. Mary's Convent here in Santa Barbara for two years.  

And like my friend’s mother, Nick was direct and concise, often bordering on the terse. He was terribly bright—he liked to let you know he was a member of MENSA—and when he spoke on matters under discussion and dispute at one of our Chapter or Council meetings, he often summed up the arguments and direction of the group with admirable clarity and brevity.  But this same brevity was not infrequently experienced by guests or others as rudeness or, at best, curmudgeonliness. This was not, of course, helped by the fact that for much of his life Nick was deaf in his right ear and he just might not hear you when you spoke. Or might not want to hear you. You could never be sure.

But hear he did when it counted, especially in his work with people affected by HIV/AIDS, especially during the early years of that plague, especially in West Hollywood.  He was a pastor, priest, friend, confidant and counselor to many who were sick or dying.

Nick said that he wanted to do and be something worthwhile.  And he did and he was.  I sent him a letter shortly before he died—I was in South Africa at the time, and Br. Timothy read it to him at Sarah House.  He said it was a nice letter, which was high praise from him.  In it I mentioned the three areas that I thought most epitomized him and his life...as priest and monk and artist.  

Nick was a faithful priest, not given to drama but to an almost objective presence and role as one who brought God to his people and his people to God.   He never talked down to his flock but always treated them as adults...which may explain why he never did children's missions. (Can you imagine?)

And he was a faithful monk, that is to say, one who soldiered on until death.  His spirituality was very private, but it was nourished by quiet and prayer and study and, of course, reading.  Nick read everything: theology, fine literature, poetry, crime novels (preferably those set in exotic locations), biographies, travelogues, history, the New York Review of Books. I worry that Chaucer's Bookshop may be in for some financial setbacks now that he will no longer be visiting in the flesh.  And who of us can forget the amazing bookstore that he created and curated at our old Mount Calvary site on Gibraltar Road? It was a wondrous selection, a window into Nick's soul and a door to new worlds for legions of guests and visitors.  

Finally, Nick was indeed an artist.  He was never a great artist, but he loved art, he lived art...he loved seeing it, hearing it, creating it, performing it.  He was a watercolorist of some ability. And of course he was a cellist. That instrument gave him such joy, both for the quality of the instrument when it was played well and for the friendships he made in learning it over the years.  He studied and practiced faithfully, almost daily when his health permitted it. And at first, of course, it was a bit painful for his neighbors.  And there, quite honestly, was always something of that pain for the duration.

If I may, I want to share an email that we received from a friend of the community

“As you know far better than I, Nick was a great lover of music and sawed away on his cello with great enthusiasm.  About three years ago at a dinner in the house I introduced Nick to my companion Gloria (some of you may recall she plays the cello in the LA Philharmonic). Nick perked up considerably at this news of her presence, becoming almost gregarious—nothing short of a minor miracle.  Before too long the two of them were off to the chapel where Gloria performed a private recital for Nick.

“Nick wasn't bashful about his request: Bach’s Cello Suite Number 6, which I am told, is as challenging a musical piece as you would ever ask a professional to play. Gloria was surprised, but obliged.  She still loves telling the story.

“I think it was on my next visit that Nick played a private concert for me. I wasn't quite prepared for his skill level. But I got through it. I love telling that story.” 

Then there was the famous incident on Maundy Thursday. Some years ago Nick offered to play the cello during the foot washing ceremony on Holy Thursday. We gathered, about 40 of us, in the large parlor at the old Mount Calvary and at the appropriate point the foot washing began. Nick was off by himself near the big fireplace, seated on a low stool and playing something meditative, when all of a sudden he tumbled backward off the bench, feet in the air followed by the cello. As you might imagine, everything came to crashing halt as all heads turned in his direction.  But Nick was nonplussed.  He got up, picked up the cello, sat down and continued.  And so did the foot washing.  And so did the Sacred Triduum. And nothing was ever said.  But really, you gotta love it.

We all have our favorite Nick stories. I hope you will share some of yours with friends at the reception that follows this service.

I mentioned that Nick loved books, buying them, reading the, selling them.  I want to connect that love of books to my opening remarks about Verna and her hope for a glorified body.   So two literary references.

The first comes from Ben Franklin.  If you go to Christ Church, Philadelphia, you will see the grave of Ben Franklin, whose epitaph reads simply: “Benjamin and Deborah Franklin:  1790.” But when he was a young man in his 20's, Franklin penned, partly in jest perhaps, an epitaph for himself. It said:

The body of

B. Franklin, Printer

(Like the Cover of an Old Book

Its Contents torn Out

And Stript of Its Lettering and Gilding)

Lies Here, Food for Worms.

But it will (as he Believ'd) Appear once More

In a New and More Elegant Edition

Revised and Corrected

By the Author.

Nick's book of life, like that of all of us, stands in need of revision and correction.  And by the grace of Jesus Christ, whom he worshiped and served, that revision and correction is happening even now, for him and for us.  And that new and more elegant edition is being prepared for publication even as we speak.  

John Donne, the 17th century Anglican poet and preacher famous for his quote about the tolling bell, also said:  “All mankind is of one Author and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated.”

So it must.

Revised, corrected, newly translated, sumptuously rebound and reissued:  May our brother Nick, with all the saints, rest in peace and rise in glory.

Amen.

Proper 27 A - Nov 9, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Peter Rostron, OHC
Proper 27 A, Sunday, November 9, 2014

Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

Matthew 25:1-13

The Ten Bridesmaids

For the past several weeks, the Sunday gospel readings have been from Matthew’s account of Jesus preaching in and around the temple in the final days before his crucifixion and resurrection. What has struck me most has been the sense of urgency and exasperation in Jesus’s words and actions. In a section the lectionary happens to skip, Jesus exclaims, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you? How much longer must I put up with you?” His first act upon entering Jerusalem was to violently overturn the tables of the merchants and money changers in the temple. He went on to tell a series of parables that convey the consequences of the people’s continued disregard for God: about tenants who killed the landowner’s son, about invited guests who were too busy to come to the king’s wedding banquet, about two women grinding meal together where one will be taken and one will be left at the end. In the face of fierce challenges by the chief priests and Pharisees, Jesus responds with biting intensity: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” “You make the new convert twice as much a child of hell as yourselves.” And, echoing John the Baptist, “you snakes, you brood of vipers!” Jesus knows that his time on earth is running out, and it is urgent that he get his message across to “this faithless and perverse generation.”

Yet, I believe his sense of urgency and frustration is a reflection of the depth of his love for all humanity: the people alive in his day, those already asleep in the earth, and all who were yet to come, including us. There was in Jesus’s time, as there is now, a separation between God and the people, and God’s greatest desire, through his son Jesus Christ, was and is, for them and for us, to be God’s hands in creating God’s kingdom on earth. Jesus may have been frustrated with the people as his earthly days came to an end, but his infinite and passionate love for them transcended that. It is with that in mind that we can view the story of the ten bridesmaids. It is another of the parables of the past few weeks that conveys this dual sense of frustration but also love, of urgency but also hope, that I believe Jesus felt.

The final statement of this parable – “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour." – conveys one of the key messages of the parable. Keep awake. Or, as I learned in Boy Scouts, be prepared, which certainly five of those bridesmaids were not. On the one hand, it seems harsh that those five foolish bridesmaids, who did not bring extra oil for their lamps, were not helped by their friends. Christ taught compassion, to help those in need. But before the act of helping a person in need can bear any fruit, I believe that person must also want to help themselves. They must play a role in their own salvation, if only by simply loving God within themselves and having a desire to know God. Those five bridesmaids did not display any care for themselves by failing to carry the extra oil needed to keep their lamps lit. They simply assumed that, at the last minute, someone else would step in to help them, with no effort of their own needed. They were indeed foolish, unprepared to do what was required of them to meet the bridegroom. As a result, their separation from God was made permanent. They were excluded from the kingdom.

The other five bridesmaids, who did bring oil for their lamps, were described as wise. And that, for me, is the second key message of this parable. Keep awake, and seek wisdom. The great significance and virtue of this pursuit is reflected in the existence of an entire collection of books in the Bible known as the wisdom books. We heard from one of them, the Wisdom of Solomon, this morning. Sometimes in those books, the person of wisdom, Sophia, speaks directly to us. I would like to add to what we heard earlier. In chapter eight of the book of Proverbs, we hear her say, “The Lord created me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of long ago. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth. When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no springs abounding with water...When he established the heavens, I was there...When he marked out the foundations of the earth...I was beside him, like a master worker, and I was daily his delight.” I am always astonished at this portrayal of wisdom as a companion of Jesus. “In the beginning was the word,” and wisdom. Wisdom is essential in a journey to encounter God. It is to the wisdom of five of those bridesmaids that Jesus is calling our attention. It is in their wisdom that they were prepared for the arrival of the bridegroom. Keep awake, and seek wisdom.

A third aspect of this parable that intrigues me is the anticipation and joy it reflects, especially in the phrase, “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.” It is a joy similar to that which we experience as we anticipate the birth of Jesus during the season of Advent, which is just around the corner. “Look! Here is the Christ child! Come out to meet him.” It strikes me that we can view our experience of reading the parable of the bridesmaids, as well as the other parables in this section of Matthew’s gospel, as a kind of parallel, or prelude, to Advent. Rather than anticipating and welcoming the coming of the infant Jesus, we instead are anticipating his departure, and his resurrection, and his coming again. Of course, we consider these events later in the church year during Lent, but I’m thinking about them now not with the sense of grief and loss, and with the acts of penance, that fill Lent, but rather with feelings of preparation and enthusiasm, with a sense of joy in what resurrection will bring.

Keep awake, Seek wisdom, Joyfully await my coming. Those, to me, are the messages Jesus is speaking through his parable of the ten bridesmaids. They are part of Jesus’s larger message given throughout his final days before crucifixion and resurrection. Keep awake! Pay attention! Listen! This is important! The shepherds and the wise men acted in this manner and thus were present to bear witness to Christ’s first coming into the world. Before we celebrate and relive their experience next month as a new church year begins, we are being asked now to pay attention to Christ’s departure from this world, to keep awake, seek wisdom, and joyfully await our own resurrection when he comes again.

CDL Life Professions - Nov 1, 2014

Church of Our Saviour, San Gabriel, California
Br. Robert Sevensky, OHC
Sermon preached at the Life Profession of 
Br. Dennis Lee Gibbs, CDL, and Sr. Greta Ronningen, CDL
of the Community of Divine Love
Saturday, November 1, 2014

Revelation 7:9-17
I John 3:1-3
Matthew 5:1-12

Br. Dennis Gibbs, Bp. Mary Glasspool of Los Angeles, Br. Robert Sevensky and Sr. Greta Ronningen.

I begin with a quote from Father Dan Ward, a Benedictine monk of St. John's Abbey, Collegeville:

Monastic life is not a static life of perfection... but a journey of coming to recognize human weaknesses and then depending upon God's mercy and help to grow into a tender, understanding and gentle person. Thus, monastic commitment is not a commitment to be instantly perfect, but a commitment to seek God and grow into perfection. This is why a monastic makes monastic profession rather than takes vows. Vows are a state of existence in which a person promises to live now: poverty, chastity, and obedience. If the person does not keep one of the vows, the person transgresses the vow and fails. But with monastic profession, a person promises to be on a constant journey of seeking God .... The journey is not complete on the day of profession, but on the day of death. A monastic fails in monastic life when the person stops seeking, when the person stops growing, when the person stops depending upon God for loving kindness and merciful forgiveness.  

I believe that we can all identify with this.  Though he is talking about monastics, what Fr. Ward says is equally applicable to all Christians, indeed to all human beings.  Life is, as we all know, a continuing journey, and the narrative is not complete until we die.  And it is true that for monastics the journey differs somewhat from that of other people, perhaps a bit more focused, perhaps a bit more dramatic.  But the goal or end or purpose is the same: to become, as Fr. Ward says, a tender, understanding and gentle person, able to recognize at once our own human weaknesses and our total dependence on God's mercy.  

The distinction that Fr. Ward makes—that between taking vows and making profession—may be a bit technical, but it is worth considering.  Vows are all or nothing, at least as commonly understood.  You either fulfill them or not, you either observe them or not.  But the monastic tradition speaks of making profession, of standing for something, of  committing oneself to a process, the end or outcome of which we cannot clearly see.  Perhaps that is why the Church now speaks more readily of a baptismal covenant rather than baptismal vows.  The word “covenant”—like the word “profession”—carries with it the expectation that we are bound together in and through relationships, relationships that will change us, transform us, and take us to places and into situations that we could not for the world have imagined.  

Today's reading from the First Letter of John for this glorious feast of All Saints reminds us of this deep truth.  First there is that primal relationship which expresses perhaps the deepest truth about any of us:  “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”  But then the author goes on to say: “Beloved, we are God's children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed.”  Which is to say, our future is open, and by embracing this reality, we too are open to we know not what.  The future is all in God's hands, and so are we.  But the author also adds:  “What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”   All that we know is that we will be or become like God, and that is knowledge enough. 

So it is with you, Br. Dennis. And so it is with you, Sr. Greta.  The road you profess to follow today until the end of your lives is a road that will lead you to you know not where.  But what we do know and what you profess today is that you will become like God.  And as Christians we can say more: you will become like God as seen and met in Jesus Christ.  And if you abandon yourself to this quest, you will become like Jesus and like those whom Jesus describes in those new commandments that we call the Beatitudes.  You will be blessed, you will be happy, even as you become poor in spirit, meek, compassionate, hungry and thirsty for justice and righteousness, merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers, perhaps even persecuted or reviled for the sake of truth, for the sake of love.

As Christians we may also confidently say: you will fail, you will fall short.  You will find that your best efforts are not quite good enough. You will find that there is still something of the unredeemed in you, that your love can grow cold, you patience can wear thin, your vision can become clouded.  And you will be disappointed by your community and by your Church and by the society in which you live and labor.  And your recourse and your one refuge and hope will be the love and mercy of God and the holy gift we have from God to forgive ourselves and each other and to begin anew. Every day.  Always. 

So today you claim that incredible journey for yourselves.  But you claim it not only for yourselves. You also claim it for the Church and for the world.  

Some thirty plus years ago, the great scholar of religion Raimundo Panikkar who lived and taught in Southern California, wrote a book called Blessed Simplicity. The Monk as Universal Archetype. In it, he says:

“By monk, monachos, I understand that person who aspires to reach the ultimate goal in life with all of his being by renouncing all that is not necessary to it, i.e., by concentrating on this one single and unique goal.”

And that goal is to attain interior simplicity of heart and mind, not primarily by renunciation, though that is the tool, but by integration, but becoming single-minded, single-hearted, possessed of a unified and unifying vision which can see the presence and power of God, of ultimate reality, in all things. You are, both of you, possessed by that desire, else you would not be here today. And so it is for your own profoundly human and holy integration that you take this step, that your profess this covenant journey deeper and deeper into your life in Christ.

But you do it also for all of us here today...and in fact, for all the Church and for all humanity. For all people share, as it were, that same desire. We might say, as Panikkar does, that all people have within themselves an inner monk or nun, a deep-seated yearning for that blessed simplicity that brings you here today.  They share in that longing for ultimate integration and singleness of heart and mind and soul which is our birthright and God's promise to all God's children.  

In one sense, this is the archetype: a universally shared human desire and basic human structure. But in another sense, both of you are now archetypes, reminding each other and all of us of that inner God quest which, if we are honest, will not let us go, no matter how much we may sometimes wish it would.  In your monastic profession, undertaken for your own salvation, you become living reminders and tokens of the longing for God that burns in every human heart, a longing that will ultimately lead all to final integration.

Greta, Dennis...God has brought you to this day.  And God will not disappoint you in your hope, though he may well take you along some very interesting pathways and to some apparent dead ends.  But always remember: it is a journey, one which begins today and ends with death.  And it is a journey to be made together...with your nascent Community of Divine Love, with your parish and diocese, with your colleagues and clients at work, with strangers and even, perhaps especially, with enemies.  

In his Rule for monasteries, St. Benedict speaks of this journey.  And though he sometimes refers to it as a race, towards the very end of his Rule he speaks of it more communally.  He says, “Let us prefer nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.” All together—that the key.  It is now less a race and more a pilgrimage.  And as we know from any real pilgrimage, the goal is not to get there first but to get there together.  “Let us prefer nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.”   And so he will, he will. That's his promise. That's his desire. That's his hope...for you and me and all of us.  What a journey.

So sister, brother: let us begin.