Tuesday, June 30, 2026

The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 30, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Daniel Hansknecht, OHC

The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 30, 2026


Almighty God, whose blessed apostles Peter and Paul glorified you by their martyrdom: Grant that your Church, instructed by their teaching and example, and knit together in unity by your Spirit, may ever stand firm upon the one foundation, which is Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
This prayer is a collect taken from our feast day breviary, used to conclude the proper offices for the Feast of Peter and Paul. It, to my mind, pretty succinctly describes why the Church celebrates these two figures, and how we continue to benefit from hearing their stories.
As leaders and teachers, Peter and Paul guided the first Christians through the turbulent and vulnerable early years of the Church’s existence. Their words and actions, as inspired by Jesus Christ and moved by the Holy Spirit, united the new group culturally and theologically; transforming them from a local Jewish sect into an international, multi-ethnic faith which could stand firm under its own strength. Their list of accomplishments is long, and books have literally been written to tell us about their lives, but there is one quality they both share that I would like to focus on: and that is leadership. What is the nature of leadership? How is it different today from the time of Peter and Paul? What characteristics should we look for in our leaders? And how can we act as leaders within our own spheres of influence?
I would personally say that leadership requires one to wear many hats. The first of these is to fill the role of guide and decision maker. Leaders often pick the direction a group will go as they plan for the future. The second is that of a cheerleader. Especially in small groups, leaders often need to inspire confidence, boost morale, and create a sense of unity amongst those who follow them. The third is that of a role model, exemplifying the group’s culture, values, and standards for behavior. And lastly, leaders often need to wear the hat of peacemaker, whether that be external diplomacy or internal conflict resolution.
The prophet Ezekiel showcases each of these nicely when God is said to be a shepherd: God brings the sheep to green pastures, God gathers the scattered sheep and unites them as a single flock, God exemplifies justice by strengthening the weak and destroying the strong, and God resolves the sheep’s metaphorical conflicts when binding up the injured. Way to go, God! I’d vote for you.
However, this prophetic proclamation didn’t come out of blue skies. God chose to announce this role for themself precisely because we were already failing at the job. Just a few verses earlier, Ezekiel calls out the misdoings of the false shepherds:
“The word of the Lord came to me: Mortal, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel; prophesy and say to them: To the shepherds—thus says the Lord God: Woe, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat; you clothe yourselves with the wool; you slaughter the fatted calves, but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak; you have not healed the sick; you have not bound up the injured; you have not brought back the strays; you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and scattered - they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep were scattered; they wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill; my sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with no one to search or seek for them.” (Ezekiel 34:1-6)
To answer the question ‘How is leadership different today from the time of Peter and Paul?’, I would say: not so different. Like the famous quote from the Book of Ecclesiastes declares:
“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
Here, ‘nothing new’ describes both the needs of the people and how people act out when those needs aren’t met. As groups, protests form and revolutions are fomented. As individuals, strongmen shore up their insecurities by seeking power and unquestioned authority. Instead of false shepherds, we can call these defensive egos false leaders, and they continue to prey upon the vulnerable in our societies.
To a degree, even Paul foreshadows the present when he says, “For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but… will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires…” That sounds to me remarkably like the effects of an echo chamber; one of the modern ways information is controlled and power is clung to.
Radically different, however, is how Jesus describes leadership: “Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant” (Matthew 20:26). Supposedly, Robert K. Greenleaf coined the term “servant leadership” in 1970, but I think Jesus beat him to it.
Here within the Order of the Holy Cross, we recently elected a new Superior, and — a full year before the election — we began reflecting on the question of what qualities we wanted from our leadership. I’ve streamlined the list slightly for this sermon, and its contents fall largely into two categories: universal leadership attributes and religious Christian values. For the former, we wanted our Superior to be someone who is clear, consistent, calm, inclusive, organized administratively, personally integrated, trustworthy, and able to disagree with others while remaining in relationship with them. This half of the list reminds me strongly of the Scout Law.
For the latter, we wanted our Superior to be gospel grounded, open to the Spirit, a seeker of the face of God, and to have a pastoral presence. We also wished for them to cultivate ongoing formation, conversion, and kindness by sharing the spiritual riches of our theological and monastic heritage. And, for good measure, it wouldn’t hurt if their name was Jesus Christ.
All joking aside, heavy is the head which wears the crown, and this is a lot for one person to embody and live into. Jesus himself, I think, would agree with me. Simon son of John, do you love me more than these? Simon son of John, do you love me? Simon son of John, do you love me? Three times Peter is asked if he loves Jesus, and every time he says yes, Jesus then tells him where to direct that love.
This is an intentionally repetitive preamble for Peter’s call to leadership. Intentionally repetitive because loving, caring for, and leading others is an important responsibility which Jesus doesn’t want Peter to answer lightly. Nonchalance — a casual “Yeah, sure Jesus” — will only lead to broken hearts and avoidable suffering.
Of course, there are many degrees and scales to this responsibility, and many degrees to one’s success or failure in it. After all, not everyone is called to lead nations, nor is everyone bound to fail catastrophically. However, I believe that everyone has the potential to be called to care for their neighbor, to mentor the young, to speak out for the disenfranchised, or to otherwise feed the sheep in our lives. Paul solemnly urges us to also proclaim the message, teach with patience, and do the work of an evangelist. But, it should be enough that we “seek peace and pursue it” (Psalm 34:14) as the Psalmist writes.
Our Gospel concludes with one more instruction: “Follow me.” John is the only gospeler who doesn’t explicitly quote Jesus as saying, ‘take up your cross’, but given the context of Peter’s death, I would say this line means much the same. As was mentioned in our opening prayer, the martyrdom of these two saints is the culminating way in which they have impressed themselves on history. Although the cross once symbolized death, for us it symbolizes rebirth and new life. Here in the United States, we will soon be celebrating July 4th, Independence Day, which can also be said to symbolize death and rebirth for us as a nation. To conclude things today, I’ve written a short prayer.
Let us pray:
Dear God, please look over and guide all the leaders in our lives. Let them be responsible stewards for the members of their flock. May they guide us to green pastures and clean waters. May they always be sober and help us to endure suffering. We pray for the leaders of our church, the leaders of our nation, our community organizers, our soccer coaches, our schoolteachers, and everyone in between. And should we be so called, may we too live out these prayers. In the name of your son our savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sunday, June 28, 2026

The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 8, June 28, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, June 28, 2026


The desert monk Abba Poemen said: "Do not be always wanting everything to turn out as you think it should, but rather as God pleases, then you will be undisturbed and thankful in your prayer." 
Today’s reading from the Book of Genesis is one of the most famous and compelling, but also one of the most horrifying, and abhorrent stories in the Bible. The story is the culmination of a series of episodes in Abraham and Sarah’s life, beginning when God calls Abram to go from his country to the land that God will show him, and God promises that his descendants will be “a great nation,” and that in Abraham all the families of the earth will be blessed. Thus begins Abraham’s epic, with themes of descendants, inherited blessing, and trust. 
But there’s a dilemma- Abraham and Sarah are unable to have children. So, they hatch a plan to use Hagar, an enslaved Egyptian woman in their household, as a surrogate mother, and Ishmael is born. But then, Sarah miraculously gets pregnant and bears Isaac. And so, we get to the story we heard last week. For jealous, self-serving, greedy and likely racist reasons, Sarah wields her power over Hagar and Ishmael. She tells Abraham to get rid of them so that Ishmael would not have a share in the inheritance and Isaac alone would inherit God’s blessing. Nice. Abraham is distressed over this, but he gets over it pretty fast and says he is listening to God, who tells him to listen to Sarah and “send Hagar out”, meaning out to die in the desert! Abraham clearly can’t distinguish God’s voice from his own. And Sarah’s motive is not to do the will of God, but to see that God does hers! No worries, the story shows us how God’s plans are always perfect even when beyond our comprehension and carried out in spite of the chaos we manage to create in ourselves because of our blind self-interests.
The event exposes the mixed motives driving Abraham and Sarah at this point in the story. (And I’m sure we all can relate to mixed motives.) On the one hand, they have faith in God’s promise. They left their homeland of Ur for an unknown place. On the other hand, they maneuver to advance their legacy by excluding others, and by doing so dishonor the spirit of God’s larger goal that, through them and their legacy, “all the families of the earth shall be blessed”. In fact, it seems their scheme to use Hagar as a surrogate itself shows a lack of trust in God. It is an anxious attempt to take matters into their own hands. 
Isaac is now the sole means for their legacy, for the fulfillment of God’s promise, for the “great nation” to come, and ultimately, for God’s plan to bless “all the families of the earth.” And so, we get to today’s distressing episode. Both accounts are really written as a consecutive, parallel pair. When both stories are read together, one can easily see how the central drama is a kind of death march for one of Abraham’s children, with God saving the child at the last moment. Both stories circle around the themes of descendants, inherited blessing, and trust. And in both stories, divine promises are vindicated: God will make “a great nation” from Ishmael no less than from Isaac. God desires neither Ishmael nor Isaac to die. On the contrary, God protects them both, cares for them both, and fulfills promises to make them both ancestors of multitudes. Why then, one might ask, God’s command for Abraham to sacrifice Isaac?
First, it’s important to understand that, as horrific as it sounds to our 21st Century western ears, the reality is that child sacrifice was a feature of ancient semitic devotion. For the Canaanites, Moabites, the people of Tirah, and other established civilizations in the Mediterranean Near East the custom would have been far from unknown. 
The very beginning of the story makes God’s purpose crystal clear: “After these things [meaning casting out Hagar and Ishmael and saying God told him it was OK] God tested Abraham”. The test echoes the ordeal he has put Hagar and Ishmael through. He sent Hagar out into the desert on a death march with her only child. Now he is the one who is walking on the death march of his other child. He attempted to cut off Hagar and Ishmael from inheriting the covenantal blessing. Now he will contemplate being cut off from the covenantal blessing by his own hand. If Isaac dies, Abraham will have no heir. The death of Isaac would mean the death of God’s promise that his descendants will become a great nation, and that Isaac will inherit God’s blessing- the inheritance Abraham and Sarah tried to hoard when they exiled Hagar and Ishmael. He manipulated for gain. Now he will face losing everything. He must choose between serving God and serving his own blind self-interests, between control and faith, between self-preservation and true love, which seeks to serve and to share, not to arrogate blessings to itself.
The story invites us to ask ourselves some fundamental questions about our relationship with God: 
What really drives my faith?  Confidence or fear, trust or anxiety, devotion or self-preservation. Do I really desire to serve God or serve myself using “faithful obedience” as a strategy for gain? All acts of “obedience” and “faith,” take place under a temptation to maneuver for gain- to obey in order to acquire an advantage.
The story makes it clear that God’s mercy always transcends mere punishment. Yes, there is accountability for what Abraham has done to Hagar and Ishmael, but more importantly there is a purging of manipulation and control necessary for a true strengthening of faith. In the end, Abraham’s faith and God’s promise are vindicated. God says to Abraham, “Now I know that you fear God.” Fearing God in this sense means regarding God with deep respect, reverence, and awe. 
In the evolution of human consciousness, the sacrificial instinct has to do with the deep recognition that something always has to die for something bigger to be born. From human sacrifice to animal sacrifice, human consciousness has gradually gotten closer to what really has to be sacrificed- our own ego! We will all find endless disguises and excuses to avoid letting go of what really needs to die for our own spiritual growth- our beloved passing self. It’s about developing the humility that finds strength in vulnerability. The vulnerability found when we accept our powerlessness, let go of our need for control, and truly believe and accept that God is in charge and has a plan much bigger and better than our ego’s plans. 
This is the vulnerability Jesus demands from his disciples when in today’s Gospel story he gives them instructions, not about extending welcome, as it may seem, but about receiving it, in his name. He sends his disciples to share the good news of God’s Reign as vulnerable outsiders. They had no religious institutions to back their efforts, or political tools to wield. And Jesus instructed them to carry nothing- no money, no food, no extra clothes. They had nothing at all, except the power of the Holy Spirit moving through them to heal and serve. Even the simplest, most basic need, a cup of cold water, would have to be met by others.   
The Desert Monastics taught that true peace can only be found by surrendering our own ego and will. They emphasized that inner transformation requires giving up the need to control. Again, Abba Poemen: "Do not be always wanting everything to turn out as you think it should, but rather as God pleases, then you will be undisturbed and thankful in your prayer." And Jesus said: “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+  

Thursday, June 25, 2026

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, June 14, 2026

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

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

The Third Sunday after Pentecost, June 14, 2026




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

Sunday, June 7, 2026

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

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

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, June 7, 2026




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My beloved brothers…

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

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

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

Friday, June 5, 2026

The Feast of Corpus Christi, June 4, 2026


The Rev. Matthew Wright

The Feast of Corpus Christi

Holy Cross Monastery, June 4, 2026


When you stare at the sun—which I don’t recommend doing, it’s bad for your eyes—or when you look at any bright light for a period of time, and then look away at something else, you see for a little while what’s called an “afterimage” now overlayed on whatever else you’re now looking at—which is caused by overloaded photoreceptors in your eyes.

I think this is a good metaphor for what happens to our spiritual eye as we gaze at the Eucharist in worship week after week—or, here in the Monastery, day after day—as the host and chalice are raised at the Great Elevation—or, perhaps, when we sit in the presence of the Eucharist within the tabernacle or placed in a monstrance during Benediction or Adoration.

We gaze at the Eucharist so that we may then see its afterimage wherever we look—not simply as an overlay, but as the Real Presence of Our Lord as the true inner reality of each person and each moment.  And while gazing at the sun can damage our sight, gazing at our Lord’s presence in the Eucharist perfects our sight—it shows us things as they really are.  The Holy Eucharist is a sacramental mirror reflecting back to us the true nature of reality, the true nature of ourselves, the true nature of creation.

As most of you will have noticed, in parish worship, the “Eucharistic elements,” the gifts of bread and wine, are typically brought up to the altar from the back of the church, from within the congregation, at the time of the offertory.  And this is because they are the gifts of the people, symbolizing our life and our labor.  Once upon a time, they would have actually been the gifts of the people—bread baked and wine fermented by members of the community.  The grapes would have been tread in the wine press by the feet of someone in those pews, the wheat gathered and milled by one of us, the dough prepared and baked by hands that were present.  And within the bread and wine are of course the grapes and wheat, and in them the sunshine and earth, wind and rain—really, all of creation.  

The Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk, of blessed memory, Thich Nhat Hanh once wrote, “When I hold a piece of bread, [and look] deeply into [it], I see the sunshine, the clouds, the great earth. Without the sunshine, no wheat can grow.  Without the clouds, there is no rain for the wheat to grow. Without the great earth, nothing can grow.”  Inside one piece of bread, the whole universe is present.

The Eucharistic elements are the stuff of creation, transformed by human labor and love, and then given to be alchemized further still—to be transformed into a sacramental mirror revealing to us who we really are.  We, the Body of Christ, gaze at and then receive into ourselves, the Body of Christ.  In the words of St. Augustine, in the Eucharist we behold what we are.  In every Eucharist we offer, in miniature, in microcosm, in our gifts of bread and wine, our whole community, and really the whole of creation, to be consecrated as the Body of Christ.

We’re taking the whole universe and placing it on that altar in every Eucharist.  And we’re taking our whole selves and placing them on that altar.  We give it all to God, and at the epiclesis and the elevation the alchemy is completed and revealed—and we are shown what we have, in fact, given; we are shown who we, in fact, are.  And it is a staggering revelation.  Behold what you are.  Christ incarnate, in the stuff of our lives, in the stuff of creation.  We look in the mirror, we see the truth.  And then it is broken and given back to us.  We receive that truth into ourselves—into our cells.  And then we are sent out into the world to see the world as it truly is.

But we don’t simply see an afterimage superimposed on reality.  No, the Eucharist trains the eye of our heart to see things from the inside out, to see the actual Eucharistic nature of creation and of every being.  About ten years ago this was brought home to me in a powerful way.  I was in British Colombia to lead a retreat and on the way to the retreat center my host asked, “Would you like to see the salmon spawning?”  As it turned out, we would be driving by a river where the salmon run was active, and the spawning season was now almost over.

Well, I had pictures of fish jumping upstream before.  And, honestly, I wasn’t that interested in seeing it in person—I was tired from a long plane flight and wanted to be done—but ever accommodating, out of my mouth came, “Sure.  Why not?”  So we parked the car, walked through a trail in the woods, and as we rounded a bend in the trees, the river emerged, and there they were—the few remaining salmon still making the journey—throwing themselves against the current as they worked their way back to the place of their birth—and they looked utterly exhausted, like it was taking every tired fiber of their being to continue onward.  And a few were finally settling into a spot to lay their eggs.  And others were clearly dying.  And as I looked I saw scattered all along the riverbanks—corpses.  Hundreds and hundreds of salmon corpses.

And then I realized that the air, in fact, reeked of dead salmon, and all around us were wings flapping as gulls came down and tore flesh from these dead salmon and plucked out their eyes.  And as I stood there taking in this whole scene, to my utter surprise, and with a fierceness and a tenderness that pierced me to the bone, I heard the voice of Christ speaking through this whole gestalt, “This is my Body, given for you.”  The few remaining, living salmon, throwing themselves against the current, saying to their future young—“This is my body, given for you.”  Those who had finished the journey and were now dying—“This is my body, given for you.”  Those now days dead, as their flesh was torn by the gulls—“This is my body, given for you.”

I realized I was standing smack-dab in the middle of a living icon of the Eucharistic universe; that this is what Christ, exhausted and inexhaustible, is saying through every facet of creation: “This is my body, given for you.”  But mostly we do not have eyes to see.  And so we gaze at the Eucharist, and we receive the Eucharist, day after day, and week after week, to train our spiritual eye, to show us things as they really are.  So that we might meet each being and each moment as an encounter with the Real Presence of Christ.  Too often we have understood the mystery of Christ’s Body as merely ecclesial or institutional.  But the true proportions of the Mystical Body of Christ are the unfathomable dimensions of the universe itself.

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus says in our Gospel reading.  The bread… that is life… is Jesus.  “…unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.”  Do we hide from life, or do we let it in?  Paula D’Arcy says that “God comes to you disguised as your life.”  Your life is the bread that is Jesus.  Do you allow it to be broken open?  Do you receive it and say Amen to it?  To see our life, and the life of the world, as the Eucharist that it is, as bearing the Real and Living Presence of Christ, we have to train our eye.  And that is why we need to gaze into the mirror that is lifted up daily at this altar.

Now I have mentioned gazing upon the Eucharist a few times, and it is, of course, common practice in many communities on the Feast of Corpus Christi to gaze upon a Eucharistic host in a monstrance and even to process with it around a church or through the streets.  Well, those of you who know your 39 Articles will know that in Article 25 we are told that “The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them.”

I typically don’t worry much about this.  I tend to say, “Well, you know, the 39 Articles were relegated to the historical documents section of the Prayer Book for a reason.”  But it’s true that the sacrament was not ordained by Christ merely to be gazed upon.  Similarly, my marriage to Yanick was not ordained simply for me to gaze upon her.  And yet, it can be profitable at times to simply gaze upon our Beloved.  To rest in their presence.  To receive their beauty.  To adore them, without agenda.

John MacQuarrie writes of the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament: “It is in terms of this focusing of our Lord’s presence that the service of Benediction is to be understood — and also justified, if anyone thinks it needs justifying. Psychologically speaking, we need some concrete, visible manifestation toward which to direct our devotion; theologically speaking, this is already provided for us by our Lord’s gracious focusing of his presence in the Blessed Sacrament.

“When this is understood, complaints about ‘idolatry’ or ‘fetichism’ are seen to be beside the point. Let us assure any who may be perturbed over such matters that we are not being so stupid as to worship a wafer, nor do we have such an archaic and myth-laden mentality that we believe the object before us to be charged with magical power.  Rather, it is in and through the Sacrament that we adore Christ, because we, being men and not angels, have need of an earthly manifestation of the divine presence, and because he, in his grace and mercy, has promised to grant us his presence in this particular manifestation.”

Similarly, Fr. Robert Hendrickson writes: “We do not simply gaze—though that is part of the act for we do look intently with admiration, thought, or surprise. Benediction is not the act of gazing alone though—it is the community’s adoration—the body comes together in love to give our attention, if but for a moment, to the One who calls us and who comes to be with us.  For some, that space may feel like a quiet time with Jesus as a friend.  Others may find themselves thrown down in awe at the throne of grace.  Others may be walking alongside Jesus on the road.  Others may simply relish the absolute mystery of it all and watch the beauty of holiness unfold.”

Beloveds, a sun rises daily at this altar.  Gaze into it without fear and have your vision transformed.  Adore the one you see in the uplifted host—and look closely and see in that host the entire universe.  Behold what you are, and know that you yourself are daily placed on this altar, and consecrated as Christ’s Body.  Know that God comes to you disguised as your life—as all of life.  And hear Jesus speaking through all of creation, “This is my Body, given for you.”

Amen.


Sunday, May 31, 2026

The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday, May 31, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Randy Greve

The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday, May 31, 2026



The first rule of preaching on Trinity Sunday is no analogies.  The Holy Trinity is not to be compared to a three-leaf clover, water, or, alas, an egg.  This is not a problem-solving occasion.  The Trinity is not a math equation on how God can be three and one at the same time.  The Trinitarian formula of the early church, summarized in the Nicene Creed, emerged after a long struggle that perplexed the first theologians as much as it might perplex us.  It required pushing language to the edge of what language can do - naming the reality, yet not going too far in seeking to explain the how of the reality.  They sought to faithfully apprehend the nature of God as revealed in Jesus Christ - a revelation in the world which changed reality.  Yes, we speak of one Being in three Persons, not separate, subordinate, or hidden, but language, as necessary as it is, can at best create a rhetorical guard against outright heresy, not define the essence of the mystery.
In The Roots of Christian Mysticism, Olivier Clement writes,
“In their expositions of the Trinity, St Basil and St Maximus the Confessor emphasize that the Three is not a number (St Basil spoke in this respect of ‘meta-mathematics’).  The divine Persons are not added to one another, they exist in one another: the Father is in the Son and the Son is in the Father, the Spirit is united to the Father together with the Son and ‘completes the blessed Trinity’ as if he were ensuring the circulation of love within it.”  
The scripture readings for today all speak of the human community participating in the communion of God whose life is relational and sharing.  The divine image mentioned in Genesis chapter one is relationality and identity in and through connection and union with God and one another.
We are not observers of a narrative today.  We are on the inside of the mystery.  This is the one feast (with the possible addition of All Saints Day) of the year not referenced to a historical event.  As a highly sense-oriented person who loves the concrete symbols of liturgy, today is notable for the absence of a visual.  Today there is no manger or mountain or cross or empty tomb.   Some aspects of reality are just simply beyond the categories of the physical world.  The Holy Trinity points us beyond history, beyond time and space to celebrate an eternal and cosmic reality revealed to us as mystery.  
Christian formation too often prioritizes the intellect at the expense of other modes of perception.  Most of us have grown up with the expectation that assenting and conforming to doctrine took priority over the inner experience of the presence of God.   In our enlightened and scientific age when learning is reduced to data and information exists more to be possessed than appreciated, we are in danger of flattening the human experience into heads on sticks, mere data processing centers who evaluate right and wrong, good and bad, in and out, with no larger vision of a story, a mystery beyond what can be grasped, that is not meant to be understood with the brain but delighted in with the spirit.  Jesus is less dogmatic in that way than we tend to be.  He more often walked around and observed and asked questions than insisted on a set theology or yet more rules.  In our tendency to explain and possess, we descend into a mechanization of faith and disenchant the universe.  Trinity Sunday is the call to re-enchant the world with the practices of wonder, adoration, exultation, and sheer delight.  Those are as important to our growth as information and theology.
It is good and right to believe in the Trinity as the truth about God, but that belief must be more than “it is true”  - check the box and move on.  The mystery of the Trinity calls forth questions about how we relate to Christian truths and whether our intellect is the best or only way of relating.  Our imagination is a better tool than our intellect.  
While visual analogies are inadequate, perhaps there is a sensory way to enter into the mystery.  Jeremy Begbie, a priest and musician who has dedicated his vocation to the theology of music, has been a helpful voice in approaching and appreciating the mystery of threeness in oneness.  Our eyes cannot perceive three colors in one as separate.  Mix colors together and they mush into something that loses their individual differences.  But we can hear three in one. Perhaps, says Begbie, part of the spiritual power of music is that more than one sound can be fully distinct in our ears at a time and the very relationships of sounds create something new.  The Trinity, he says, is musical sympathetic resonance, the closest thing our senses can experience to three in one.  Music is a beautiful expression of how theology transcends the limiting categories of control, certainty, and protection and ushers us into the joyful freedom of uniqueness within difference, structure and spontaneity that unfold mystery, wonder, and trust.  Liturgy is musical, whether we are singing or not, because it is participatory - it is the incarnation of being creatures made in the image and likeness of God.  And because the Christian life is liturgy, perhaps we can discover ways to play our way into God’s delight with the instruments of our lives as a reflection of the Trinity.
Blessing and honor, thanksgiving and praise, more than we can utter be to you, O glorious Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by all angels, all mortals, the whole creation, for ever and ever. Amen.