Sunday, April 20, 2014

Holy Saturday - Apr 19, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY 
Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC
Holy Saturday - April 19, 2014


Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24
1 Peter 4:1-8 
Matthew 27:57-66


The harrowing of hades
He Descended to the Dead

Every morning at Matins, when we pray the Apostle's Creed, we pray the phrase, “He descended to the dead” as in “He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead.” And for such a bold but unexplained statement I find the way our Eastern Christian brothers and sisters understand theology a much more comfortable way to approach such a mystery.  For the Orthodox, theology is, well, an art form. It is as much about icons, poetry, hymnody, liturgy and prayer, as it is about intellect and study. It's not that they don't engage in lots of study, they certainly do. But that's not the only thing they do to seek Christ, as we might say in our Benedictine tradition. And make no mistake, theology for the Orthodox is not so much an academic pursuit, but rather the very seeking of Christ.

Now many people have told me over the years that Holy Saturday is, for them, a day of emptiness. A few will say, a day of waiting or anticipation, but most of those who have spoken to me about it say that they experience  Holy Saturday as a day that is empty. Akin, perhaps, to the day after a funeral of a loved one. And while I am not going to tell you how or what to feel today, I would like to suggest that there is another approach to Holy Saturday, an approach that is artful, prayerful, even mystical. But one that I think is available to all of us.

Within the Eastern tradition there are many approaches to the descent of Christ to the dead, or into hell as it is often termed. But it is the approach that Cyril of Alexandria takes, that most appeals to me. Cyril takes the view that Christ, after his death, descended to hell to preach to all those who were present there. And in so doing, as he says in his Paschal Homilies, Christ “destroyed hell and opened the impassable gates for the departed spirits. He left the devil there abandoned and lonely.” 

Now per-Christian hell, for the Fathers of the Church, is not how we sometimes think of it as a place where unrepentant sinners go. Rather, it is a place for the dead. For anyone who has died. In their thinking, the Fathers are divided on what the spiritual consequences of being dead before the time of Christ were, but it is clear for them that all humanity descends to this nether world of captivity.

Now let's just take that it in for a moment. Christ, having just been murdered in a gruesome way, continues to experience what all humanity experiences by descending to the dead. He descends to hell to preach to the dead. Christ's plan for salvation is not only for those who were living during his earthly life or for those who would come in the future. No, Christ's plan for salvation is for all of humanity for all time. That includes, according to Cyril, not only the Righteous Jews, but also all pagans. Those two groups, for him, represented all of humanity at the time of Christ. 

If we extrapolate out the modern understanding of what the totality of humanity consists of, that means that Christ was preaching to people who had been dead, in some cases, for millions of years. And the theological point that I think is important here is that Christ's plan for salvation is for all the living, all the dead, all those yet to be born. And Christ will stop at nothing to preach, reach, touch, save, love all of us. All of humanity. Every member of every religion, every race, every culture, every language group. Every captive. 

The Russian Orthodox monk and theologian Bishop Hilarion Alfeyev, says that “Clearly, Cyril perceived the victory of Christ over hell and death as complete and definitive. According to Cyril, hell loses authority both over those who were in its power and those who are to become its prey in the future. Thus, the descent into Hades, a single and unique action, is perceived as a timeless event. The raised body of Christ becomes the guarantee of universal salvation, the beginning of leading human nature to ultimate deification.” 

What humanity experiences on Holy Saturday is something outside of chronos, chronological human time, and is better understood as being experienced in kairos, that is, a season for God to act in a time that humanity may not fully grasp. That experience of Holy Saturday is nothing less than the emptying of hell because Christ desires for humanity to turn from worshiping death toward worshiping Him, the very fountain of life. 

However, though Christ has led captivity captive and brought salvation even to the nether world, the lure of  death and hell are powerful. Even though Christ has emptied hell, he still searches among the dead, the lost, because so often we human beings seem to have some kind of proclivity to choose death rather than life, to make our own hells on earth.  Just think about the last hundred years and the way in which humanity has created its own hell by continuing to turn from worshiping God in order to worship  death: Death in the form of mustard gas, concentration camps, killing fields, lynch mobs, napalm, drones, nuclear weapons. 

From the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand in 1914, to the latest drone attack that occurred in Yemen this morning, humanity has chosen, time and again,  in an unprecedented way over these last hundred years, to worship death and to create our own hells on earth, even though Christ left the devil “abandoned and lonely”. It has been a century of darkness and death.

This proclivity for darkness and death is almost beyond the explainable, yet even now, Christ will never give up on us. Just as he searched the darkest corners of hell to save every member of the human family, Christ still searches for us even as we modern humans have embraced an unprecedented worship of death. And that embrace is sadly shared by all of us. For most of us in this church, that embrace is shared primarily through ambivalence or complacency.  But that complacency allows the purveyors of death to rule our lives whether we want to admit that or not. 

And so my invitation to all of you this Holy Saturday is to listen for Christ's preaching in those areas of your life in which you might have died. Has your zeal for peace died within you? Has the virtue of love for the least brother or sister died within you? Has your greatest patience with prayer or service to the poor died within you? Listen my sisters and brothers with the ear of your heart and know that Christ preaches to that which may have died within you this day. Christ never gives up on you! Not on any of you!

And knowing that – believing that – will then give us the strength we need to accompany Christ into all the darkest places that we human beings have created on earth. Those places where we as a people have died: in the slums we have established in order to neglect the poor; in the camps we've filled with refugees we'd rather fence in than liberate; in the limousines of gun manufacturers who are laughing all the way to the bank as our children are slaughtered in their classrooms; in the factories of death that our government calls nuclear weapons laboratories. 

Let us go to those places and preach like Christ to the dead. Let us announce this Holy Saturday, that a new and different century is about to begin - a Century of Light and Life. A century in which we preach, reach, touch, save, love all of humanity.  Let us proclaim that Christ suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. That he descended to the dead. That on the third day he rose again and that he ascended to heaven. From where, this Holy Saturday, he sends us forth to preach to the dead.  Holy Saturday empty? I'd ask you to consider a different approach in your prayer today. AMEN.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Palm Sunday - Apr 13, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY 
Br. James Rostron, n/OHC
Year A - Palm Sunday - April 13, 2014

Isaiah 50:4-9a 
Matthew 21:1-11 
Jesus enters Jerusalem
And so today we begin Holy Week, the most sacred week of the Christian year. It is a
week of profound contrasts and great tension, for us, here and now in the present, just as it was for Jesus and his followers and the citizens of Jerusalem. The week begins with the triumphal and provocative entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, with a crowd of people laying their cloaks and palms before him, shouting “Hosanna!” Yet within days, Jesus is hanging, virtually abandoned, dead on a cross. A few days later, though, he is gloriously risen and the world knows that indeed he was, and is, God’s son. His deliberately humble entry on a donkey through an eastern gate into the city contrasts greatly with the grand and militaristic entry, on horses, that some say was made by Roman troops through a western gate on the same day. We see Jesus himself experiencing a wide range of emotions throughout the week, from dramatic anger at the money changers in the Temple on Monday, to a poignant and loving Passover meal on Thursday, to despair and doubt in the garden at Gethsemane early Friday morning. And most extreme of all, and really, I think, impossible for us to fathom, are, on the one hand, the wrenching agony Jesus must have felt being tortured and crucified, and, on the other hand, the ecstatic, otherworldly joy
of resurrection and union with God, the one he called Abba.

I find that this week can be quite overwhelming. I can try to make some meaningful sense
of the great swirl of political, social, and religious issues and events from Jesus’s day all mixed together with the theological, liturgical, and spiritual implications that reverberate into the present. But it’s almost as if Matthew’s description of turmoil in the city applies to my own mind, also. It’s difficult for me to know how I want to receive, and “be in,” this week. How do I balance the extreme sadness and joy of this week? How do I take in and process the stream of events of this week while avoiding sensory overload? The conclusion I’ve come to is that I don’t, I can’t. There is too much for the “planner, achiever” me to organize and interpret and understand. I am reminded of a practice I learned while studying engineering in college. When faced with a complex problem, go back to the beginning and walk through the sequence of fundamental concepts that leads up to the current scenario, no matter how rudimentary those steps seem and how well you think you know them.

So, as I’ve been thinking about the notion of going back to the beginning, I find myself
being drawn to a recent turning point in my life, the beginning of my monastic call. About seven years ago, while I was teaching high school in Washington, DC, I began to sense that some kind of big change was coming, and I was trying to figure out what that change might be. I was also getting deeply involved in parish life at St. Columba’s Episcopal Church. One aspect of that was participation in a very rich offering of adult formation classes on topics such as forgiveness, wisdom literature in the Bible, and forms of prayer. It was in that class on prayer that I learned, or perhaps finally understood, that prayer is more about listening than about talking. Now, I don’t believe that I hadn’t heard God before, but I did become a better listener. I learned to listen to God in prayer and in nature, in other people, and in events happening around me and in the world. Being a better listener ultimately brought me into this community at Holy Cross.

And now here, as I begin to absorb the wisdom of the Rule of St. Benedict, which, by the
way, begins with the word “listen,” I am becoming aware of an equally important practice, or state of being: humility. It is the starting point for a life in Christ. Humility means knowing and accepting and being true to who you are, good and bad, as a child of God and as a child of the earth, or humus. It means letting go of all falseness and pretense and defensiveness in order to be fully open to Christ. It means acknowledging your mistakes and knowing that you can’t save yourself; only Christ can do that. It means following God’s will for you, not your own will. Without humility, there is no room for Christ.

So, if I apply this principle to Holy Week it means I might try just to humbly listen. Good
things have already come from doing so, and perhaps they will again. This message echoes in the readings we heard today. Isaiah told us, “Morning by morning [the Lord God] wakens my ear ... to listen as those who are taught. The Lord God has opened my ear.” Matthew’s description of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on the backs of a donkey and a colt quotes the prophet Zechariah: “Look, your king is approaching ... humble and riding on a donkey.” And Jesus himself speaks to us, too, through his actions. His humble ride on a donkey did not happen by chance. He arranged for the animals to be available, and he coordinated a password for them to be released. He prepared an entry into the city that would be a humble protest of Roman imperialism. He is reminding us of his own humble birth, on the road to poor parents, and then being raised in a dusty nowhere town, and earning a living as a skilled laborer.

This week is, in a way, a concentrated microcosm of Jesus’s life, and we are being
prompted in words and actions and symbols to listen to Christ’s message of justice and peace and to humbly walk in his way, even if it leads to suffering and death, but knowing that it ultimately leads to resurrected life. As the week unfolds then, my advice to myself, and to you if you think it might be helpful, is to try not to think too much, or expect too much, or plan too much, or be too overwhelmed. Simply be present. Lay palms on the road in front of Jesus, shouting “Hosanna!” Share a final meal with Jesus as he bids farewell and washes your feet. Sit with him for an hour in the garden late into the night. Stand by him in his suffering on the cross. Be greeted by him at the tomb on Sunday morning. Let these things happen, let them sink in, and let yourself respond. Let go of your own will and listen to God’s will for you. Accompany Jesus on his journey. There is indeed a lot going during these tumultuous eight days, but let us simply and humbly listen – and have a blessed Holy Week. Amen.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Lent 4 A - Mar 30, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY 
Br. Bob Pierson, OSB
Year A - Lent 4 - March 30, 2014

1 Samuel 16:1-13 
Ephesians 5:8-14 
John 9:1-41 
Jesus healing the blind man
How well do you see? Recently I was surprised to find out that I see better than I thought I did. When I applied for my New York driver's license, I was able to pass the vision test without my glasses. For the first time since I began driving at age 16, I no longer have to wear glasses while driving.

There was a time though when I couldn't see things very well, but I didn't know it. My sixth grade teacher noticed I was squinting to read the black board and she suggested to my parents that I should get my eyes checked. I thought I was seeing just fine, and I remember how amazed I was after putting on my first pair of glasses. Wow! Those trees have leaves on them, and I could actually see the individual leaves rather than just a mass of green.

As I was reading this gospel passage of the healing of the man born blind the other day, I recalled that experience of coming to clearer sight, and it occurred to me that perhaps the reason that the Pharisees couldn't see things as well as they thought they could was because they were looking through the wrong lenses. Have you ever tried looking through another person's eye glasses? Often it's easier to see without any glasses at all than to try to see anything with the wrong prescription lenses.

So what lenses were the Pharisees using? They were looking through the lenses of the law, and what they saw was Jesus breaking the law by healing someone on the sabbath. In their eyes, that made Jesus a sinner. The man who was healed, however, didn't see it that way at all. He was looking through the lenses of faith, and he saw a person doing good on the sabbath, performing an amazing miracle, and in his eyes Jesus was a prophet.

The Pharisees weren't the only ones have a hard time seeing clearly. The parents of the man born blind could see that he was healed, but because they were looking through the lenses of fear, they weren't able to see who Jesus was either. The lenses through which we look really do effect how we see and what we see. We see things differently through the lenses of love than we do through the lenses of power and control. We see things differently through the lenses of forgiveness than we do through the lenses of anger and bitterness.

Lent is a good time to get our spiritual eyes checked and to make any needed correction in the lenses through which we view the world. If we realize that we are limited in our vision—in our ability to see the world as it really is—we can ask God to heal us and help us find the right lenses.

And when God heals our sight, it's not just for us alone. The writer of the letter to the Ephesians reminds us, “Once you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of the light.” As children of the light, we are called to share Christ's light with others. Jesus, the light of the world, calls us to share the Good News of God's love and mercy, dispelling the darkness around us.

We may not consider the tiny light we have to be all that much, but as that light is shared with others, it multiplies until, like the light of the Easter candle, it fills the room with radiance. “Come, Lord Jesus, and enlighten our minds and hearts. Help us to see clearly so we can share your light with others around us.” AMEN.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Annunciation - Mar 25, 2014

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Bernard Jean Delcourt, OHC
Annunciation – Tuesday 25 March 2014


Isaiah 7:10-14 
Hebrews 10:4-10 
Luke 1:26-38 


The Annunciation, by Henry Ossawa Tanner, 1859 - 1937
Philadelphia Museum of Art

“Let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary’s words to the angel Gabriel encourage us to acknowledge our blessed powerlessness in facing God. They encourage us to seek God’s will as the only justified actions to undertake.

The Annunciation shows that nothing is impossible to God. And it shows that God seeks us as partners just as we are amidst the life we live no matter how mundane or not.

*****

The Annunciation to Mary is the beginning of a mystery. It starts the mystery of the Incarnation. It forever changes our relationship to God. And we are still in the midst of that Incarnation.

With the Incarnation, God the omniscient, the omnipotent, breaks into the very particulars of human existence. The Holy Spirit overshadows a young virgin, a Galilean. God intervenes in her life to be himself born in a human family; the family of an unexciting descendant of David.

God chooses as partner a non-dominant person of her society.  In a society where older males hold sway, God chooses a young maid whose marital status makes her particularly vulnerable to social opprobrium.

*****

And what Mary gets to hear from Gabriel is puzzling in so many ways that it is a wonder that Mary only asks one question of the holy messenger. 

The announcement is totally outside of the realm of everyday life for Mary. Mary might wonder about the titles such as “Son of the Most High.”  She might wonder about the political claims such as “God will give him the throne of his ancestor David” or even “he will reign... forever”

But instead, Mary retains the good sense to start with first things first; “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” She even pre-supposes that her pregnancy is not to occur through the agency of Joseph, even though Joseph could deliver the Davidic lineage. Mary gathers that there is immediacy in this godly intervention -- or is it an invitation?

*****

The angel Gabriel’s answer to her question of how this is to be leaves the door open to even more questions than it answers. But Mary has already gathered that questions will not solve this mystery. She has intuitively understood God’s agency in all this and is already resolved to be part of it. Her choice is in how she reacts to this godly intervention. She could brace and resist or soften and accept.

“Let it be with me according to your word” is her response. And hopefully, we too, soften and respond to life’s little and large annunciations to be partners with God.

*****

Mary is a shining example of embracing our powerlessness in order to accept the power of God in our lives. Through her ready acceptance of God’s agency in her life, she ushers in eternal life for all. It is through her frail humanity, and that of her yet-to-be-conceived son, that God chooses to save humankind. 

*****

In the mystery of Incarnation, frail, messy, unreliable human flesh is invited to participate in the desires, the  hopes and the life of God himself.

In embracing the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit and conceiving Jesus in her womb, Mary is an active, willing participant of the Incarnation of which we are an ongoing part.

*****

And today, we are nine months ahead of Christmas. At Christmas, we celebrate another milestone of the Incarnation, the birth of the Child Jesus into the world. But by the meanders of the liturgical calendar, in a few weeks’ time we will relive Jesus’ passion and his resurrection. But do not believe for an instant that Holy Week and Easter will bring an end to Jesus’ incarnation. 

The Incarnation did not come to an end with the earthly death of Jesus. Through his death and resurrection, the Incarnation was made a reality for all believers and those they pray for.

With the institution of the Eucharist and the Resurrection and Ascension of Christ, the Incarnation was expanded extravagantly to include each and every one of us.

The very present Body of Christ continues to be made evident in the sacraments of Baptism and the Eucharist. In both those sacraments, we are made part of the corporeal body of Jesus Christ in the world. The Annunciation we celebrate today also announces our participation in the Body of Christ.

*****

In the words of Teresa of Avila:

“Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours. Yours are the eyes through which is to look out Christ’s compassion to the world. Yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good. Yours are the hands with which He is to bless humans now.”

*****

So come forward this morning and receive Christ’s body and blood in you.  Become ever more what you partake in, the Body of Christ in which you were already awakened through baptism a while ago. Come, taste and see that your hands are the hands of Christ. And, as Mary, let your heart seek and consent to God’s will always.

Amen.