Another excerpt

Earlier this year, I posted a couple of excerpts from a book I am working on, the tentative title of which is "Sacred Reading through St. Mark." Here is another from chapter 2. (n.b. The Chapters follow exactly those given in the Gospel text.)

But there were certain of the scribes sitting there, and reasoning in their hearts, Why doth this man thus speak blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God only? And immediately when Jesus perceived in his spirit that they so reasoned within themselves, he said unto them, Why reason ye these things in your hearts? Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsey, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsey,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house. And immediately he arose, took up the bed, and went forth before them all; insomuch that they were all amazed, and glorified God, saying, We never saw it on this fashion. (vs. 6-12)

[T]hy sins be forgiven thee." Given the religious climate and the state of medical knowledge in 1st century Palestine, the scribes are used to assuming that anyone who is afflicted with a bodily or psychological disease (be it leprosy, schizophrenia, demonic possession, etc.) must, simply must, also be a sinner (or the inheritor of parental guilt). And, people being who we are, it is not a great distance from there to associate the severity of the symptoms with the severity of the sinful act(s). Think here of John 9, the healing of the man born blind, especially verse 34: "[The Pharisees] answered and said unto him, Thou wast altogether born in sins, and dost thou teach us? And they cast him out." Here again, this poor man is conveniently (at least for some!) squeezed into the pharisaical box of preconceived notions and readily dismissed without a second thought. I am horrified by how easily I have fallen into this trap in my own life. Lord, have mercy on us for all those times we condemn others for merely challenging our preconceptions and our comfort zones!

So I guess the question for us is: what exactly is Jesus forgiving here in this context? Perhaps He is doing two things here: 1. giving comfort and assurance to the sick man who has likely grown used to thinking in the same categories as the Scribes when it comes to the correlation between sinfulness and sickness and 2. plowing through the suspicions and prejudices of the religious establishment and overcoming their partial worldview with the whole truth of the matter.

As to the first instance, I have been taking an online course through BiblicalTraining.org on the Book of Proverbs, taught by Dr. Bruce Waltke. In the session on hermeneutics (the methodology of interpretation), Prof. Waltke speaks of the 'pre-understanding' that we bring to a given text or situation. This is not just simply to be understood as our own developed prejudices, but (more wholistically) knowing 'who I am' and 'where I am going'. Think about that in relation to our present context. The Scribes certainly think they know who this sick man is (a sinner!) and where he is headed (oblivion, if not outright perdition!). I wonder if he has heard such things often enough that he started to believe them himself. What makes it even worse is when such is perpetrated in the name of religion. How psychologically damaging it is when those we ought to be able to trust (parents, teachers, clergy, etc.) use their authority in such a destructive way.

So, for this sick man to hear, first of all, that he is indeed forgiven (both for his actual sins and those assigned to him by established religious misconception) must be a great relief indeed. In and because of Jesus, his humanity is being restored. He is indeed more than a worthless sinner, he is a creation in the image and after the likeness of God (cf. Gen. 1:26)

Secondly, to the Scribes Jesus says "that you may know..." Notice what has transpired first: forgiveness, then healing. The one logically follows on from the other. It is my current practice to make a private, sacramental confession on the Ember Saturdays that occur throughout the year. I say this not to boast, but by way of illustration: several times I have been moved to tears not only recalling my sins and speaking them out loud in the hearing of another, but also at the great relief that comes from hearing the words of absolution. Our Lord Jesus Christ, through the counsel of His minister, accepts our repentance and grants forgiveness through the all-sufficient merits of the Cross and Resurrection. But, He is also saying (to us personally and to the Scribes of the present instance): You can do this too.You do not have to be the Son of God to say to someone, I forgive you.

"Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsey, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk?" Neither one of these things was particularly 'easy' for the Scribes. But that is what Jesus is calling them to, a ministry of reconciliation. And, do you know what? He is calling us to do the same thing. Not everyone is going to be gifted with a physical healing, but anyone can say "I forgive you" to someone else. Yet isn't it the case that sometimes we would prefer to have the former gift instead of 'having' to exercise the latter, which is our common inheritance?

The Scribes here are the perfect example of what not to do, being as they are trapped inside a box of their own making and choosing that admits of no alteration. I say this to myself as much as to anyone else, whatever (or whoever) it is in your life that is in need of compassion and forgiveness, take a chance and offer it. Open up the lid and let in a little light and fresh air. And, if that seems too difficult, the following is some good counsel from the aforementioned Fr. Stephen Freeman:

"Use this prayer for the enemies who [or prejudices that] seem to be beyond your ability to pray: 'O God, at the dread judgment, do not condemn them for my sake.' This places forgiveness at a distance and even a hard heart can often manage the small prayer of forgiveness at such a distance." (ibid)

Brother Paphnutius - an ongoing parable (Part IV)

"And [Jesus] came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. And he that was dead sat up and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother. And there came a fear on all: and they glorified God, saying, That a great prophet is risen up among us; and, That God hath visited his people. (Luke 7: 14-16)

Death

Early January, 367 A.D. - The Egyptian desert

It has been unseasonably cold this year. With so few, and such primitive, human settlements as there are in this region, not much is there to trap the heat of the sun's warmth in this part of the world. It is about 1:00 a.m. as we know it. Br. Paphnutius has been awake since early yesterday morning. As he looks out from his cave, the view is expansive (which he appreciates, though it is not something that he sought out for its own sake). There is frost on the ground, some snow dusted onto the distant hills and three or four lights off in the distance; letting him know that his brethren are keeping their own watch in solidarity with him.

But not Paphnutius. At least not yet. He picked up one of the Psalter rolls, but immediately put it back down. Tonight is different. He is still absorbed by the events of earlier yesterday. Now, you might be thinking to yourself: aren't monks supposed to strive to always live in the present, neither regurgitating the past nor projecting worry onto the future? And you would be right.

Sometimes, though, things stay with us and not by our own volition. So while events belonging to the past are over and done, their "echo" if you will can still hold a place in our consciousness. And, in that sense, even something of what is past remains also in the present. That is a way to see it anyway.

Here's what happened.

Early in the afternoon all of the brethren had gathered in their community church (wherein they sing daily Vespers and Sunday Liturgy together) for a funeral service. One of the younger monks was found dead in his cell that morning, apparently having committed suicide. He, a convert from paganism, had come to religious life only a few years prior and was known as a fervent and sincere believer (as indeed he was).

But...there were rumours-and Paphnutius had heard them-that this young man struggled with homosexuality. No one, however, was suggesting that he lead anything other than a life of perfect continence.


This young brother felt deeply the struggle within himself and always pushed himself, maybe a bit too hard, in his ascetic practices in order to try and compensate. There was a perpetual tension within. On the one hand the testimony of the Scriptures and the vows he had taken obliged him to a life without physical intimacy. On the other hand, his heart yearned to share himself with another, a desire that not even a sincere believer can always come to terms with. So, perhaps, in this tragic moment, the tension became too much to bear.

Okay, here's where things get interesting.

While the brethren were in the church praying the funeral liturgy, including the text: "I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die", Br. Paphnutius was standing near the body and the text from St. Luke that opens this story came to mind. He always associated this great mercy of Jesus with His final act of pastoral ministry on the Cross when He entrusted the Theotokos to the care of St. John, to wit: "Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalen. When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home." (John 19: 25-27)

And so it was that while Paphnutius was commending this troubled young soul to the same care and mercy of God that is so evident throughout the Gospels, he noticed something unusual. He thought he saw signs of breathing. 'Wait. There it is again.' Then a leg moved. Then...he sat upright. Then......the liturgy ceased.

Br. Paphnutius took him by the hand, lead him toward the elder of their group and had the young man kneel down before him so that the brethren could lay their hands on his head as a gesture of compassion and restoration. Not a word was spoken until they depared the church. Then again, nothing could be said right then that was of any value anyway.

Paphnutius spent the rest of that day talking with the young man, sharing a meal with him and assuring himself that those inner struggles that had previously consumed the younger one were entirely converted. Thanks be to God.

It is now what we would know as 2:30 a.m. Paphnutius picks up the scroll he had set down earlier, unrolls it, and begins his nightly vigil: "Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord; Lord hear my voice." (Ps. 130:1)

The moral of (this part) of the story: It seems to me that these days there is an awful lot of fretting and confusion surrounding issues of personal identity. Are you gay, straight, transgendered, married, single, just plain confused? It doesn't really matter so much where you have come from as it does that you are here in this present moment. What it is you choose to do with this moment can make all the difference in the world, both for this life and the life to come. Our Lord Jesus Christ has said: "[B]ehold, the kingdom of God is within you." (Lk. 17:21) Do you believe this?

To be continued...

Brother Paphnutius - an ongoing parable (Part III)

"Then said Jesus unto the twelve, Will ye also go away? Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life." (John 6:67-68)

366 A.D. - The Egyptian desert

Over the years, this very thought had occurred to Br. Paphnutius on a continuing basis, especially during the long night vigils. The unimpeded life can be a frightfully honest thing. When we have time to think and reflect, are we going to be comfortable with everything that the conscious mind churns up from the fertile soil of the subconscious? Are we really the person that we present to others; that we have convinced ourselves that we are or "need" to be? We can fill pages and conversations with sage advice lifted and digested from various sources and blended together with our own experience, but does it really mean anything to the one who is speaking or writing? We can practice lectio divina all day long, but do we really believe what we read? Does it make a difference? Do we really care? Self-deception is terribly easy to come by, particularly when you live alone.

Br. Paphnutius, who by now is considered an "experienced" monk (meaning that he has been struggling in his vocation longer than some of his brethren in the nearby cells have been alive), has spent the greater portion of his life alone. Sure, he was surrounded by other students in school and almost married at one point, but even there among those casually social and emotionally intimate relationships, there was a part of him that he just couldn't give away to the other person. Not that he didn't want to (and he was good at pretending that he had), it was just something deeper than he could reach and it remains incommunicable to this very day. The only One Who truly knows Paphnutius is the Creator of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen. That is the root of his vocation. Here in the desert, bereft of all pretence and illusion, he can simply be himself and rest assured that he is in fact known and loved, and that that will never change.

To get back to the question at hand, though. What if he weren't a monk? Would he have success as a merchant or other businessman, a scribe or philosopher, a family man? As much as he knows he is not called to be a father and husband, what a great blessing and a joy it is for him to observe family life. Though, if we are being honest, it causes a pang of regret from time to time in his heart as well.

To take it one step deeper, would he even be a Christian? "Last year" when we were first introduced to Br. Paphnutius it was noted that in his twenties he tried and found wanting a monastic community while he was still filled with youth and enthusiasm. However, the abbot of the place found that Paphnutius did not fit into his preconceived notions of what an obedient novice monk ought to be. Paphnutius, at the time still so inexperienced, did not have the good sense to take things in stride and understand that there are some who have a pathological need to wield "power" over others, even in the Church. That, together with the overemphasis on "rules" and "regulations" in that particular community (a situation where obedience to the letter of the law was prized almost to the exclusion of obedience to its spirit lived in a humane way) and the coming scandal that would rock the Church and shake the faith of her most ardent members was quite enough. At that time he had come to consider himself (and watch out, here's another great opportunity where self-delusion rears its ugly head) an ardent traditionalist who believed the party line simply because it was the party line. In short, he had become the worst sort of "true believer" willing to throw others under the bus rather than deviate from the "rules". The most pernicious thing about that, aside from the cold attitude it engenders, is that it wasn't even apparent to Paphnutius what he was becoming.

These days, those who like to categorise people in simplistic ways and struggle valiantly but vainly to "clean up" the messiness of life (good luck with that!) would consider him something of a soft old liberal. And, you know what, he's okay with that. Through his experiences (and believe me, he has been around the block a few times!) he has come to accept what he always knew to be true about himself, not warring in his heart to try and force himself to be what he is not out of a false sense of belonging and fear of rejection.

Okay, after that detour, Paphnutius once told me: "Brother, I can honestly say that had it not been for the former occupant of this cave I would probably have abandoned the way of Jesus Christ. Even now there is much ignorance in the Church which is really good at pushing people away. I have learned to just let things be, trust in God and worry about my own belief and condition. Everything else will follow."

The moral of (this part) of the story: I don't know that there really is one this time. If you haven't guessed by now, many of the details present in these stories are a compendium of real life experiences of the author. I have rearranged some events, added humorous details and the hindsight of lived experience together with Biblical references, but there is a lot of me in these accounts. In part, telling these stories is a way for me to exorcise some of my own demons. Perhaps what I have to say may prove useful for you on your journey.

To be continued...



Being devoured

Jeremiah 31:1-14     1 Peter 5:5-11     Luke 15:1-10

 

"[Y]our adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour." This portion of today's Epistle served as part of the short lesson at the Office of Compline in both the Roman and Monastic breviaries until their reform in recent decades. This exhortation to spiritual vigilance was one of the last things members of the clergy were to bear in mind as their work came to an end for the day. One of the reasons that monks have traditionally taken to keeping vigil in the night hours is that it is believed God's presence is particularly to be found in silence. It also allows them to be in solidarity with those whose occupations require them to work during the night hours, those who are unable to rest peacefully due to mental or physical illness, those who use the cover of darkness to perpetrate evil and those who are afraid of what the dawn will bring for them. Inasmuch as we are all called to be saints, according to First Corinthians 1:2 ("...to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, with all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord..."), here is a perfect example of the communion of the saints. The monks offer their prayer and sacrifice in union both with those who rejoice and those who are in trouble. Beautiful!


There are a couple of striking things in this selection from First St. Peter: the roaring lion and the use of the word "devour". Doing a bit of research, I discovered that lions only roar as part of a group. They tend to remain mostly silent if they are on their own. So the roar serves as a way to communicate with the other lions as well as a way to indicate to the others that they are staking a claim on a particular territory. In the context of today's Epistle, that is a rather frightening concept. We are reading here that Satan is working to stake a claim upon us. Ever since the disobedience of Original Sin evil gained a foothold among the creation of God. Friends, this is the situation that we are up against. And it is not just that the devil roars after us, but that he wishes to devour us. According to Webster's, the verb 'devour' means not just a ravenous consumption, but even "to seize upon and destroy...to annihilate." He does indeed wish that we be consumed by our sins, that our hearts overflow with pride and pleasure to the exclusion of all else. In that way, we will become more and more like him until finally the last spark of divine life is extinguished in us and we consign ourselves to the everlasting torments of our own decision for hell, where the love of God is a distant and loathsome remembrance and where we will be inescapably surrounded by other narcissists, the ultimate punishment for the self-absorbed. It is no wonder, then, that we cry out in The Litany: "[F]rom the crafts and assaults of the devil; from thy wrath, and from everlasting damnation, Good Lord deliver us."


In speaking of Jesus in today's Gospel, the Pharisees and scribes are heard to proclaim: "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." Commenting on this reaction to Jesus, St. Gregory the Great says: "[I]n dryness of heart they rebuked the very fountain of mercy. But they were sick, so sick that they were unaware of it. To make them realize that they were sick, the heavenly physician tends them with a gentle remedy, laying before them this gracious parable." Indeed both of the people in this parable, the shepherd and the woman, have a great personal stake in finding what has been lost. If that is the case for things that have been entrusted to us, how much more so is it the case of the Lord God Who created us, sustains us in life and desires nothing more than that we allow ourselves to be loved by Him and to come into His presence for everlasting life? Contrast that with the schemes of the devil as he roars to proclaim our self destruction. The One gently draws us to Himself, never coercing. The other laughs at the pathetic way in which we despise the great gift of our Creator and pointlessly throw away our inheritance for a mess of suffering and eternal self-loathing.

So, it seems we have two options here: either acknowledging our need to be found or refusing to admit that there is even such a thing as being lost. To put this in the context of our own day, there has been much in the news lately about issues of 'gender identity'. Rather than seeing the symptoms as the manifestation of a deeper pathology in need of treatment, now woundedness is treated as a spectacle to be paraded around in order to strike awe and regard into the onlookers. Contrast that with Mark, chapter 2, vs. 1-5 (the healing of the paralytic who is let in through the roof by his friends). Four men are here giving necessary assistance to one who was sick, so much that he could not even move a great distance under his own power, let alone seek a remedy to what ailed him. With just this alone, there are at least two significant theological points to be discerned: 1. an overwhelmingly generous amount of assistance is available to the sick man and 2. he is just not able to do anything to help himself.

Think about that first point, then think about the Incarnation, the Cross and the Resurrection. "And the word was made flesh, and dwelt among us" (Jn. 1:14). This is the very essence of generosity. As to the second point, the sick man's helplessness, I think he is a perfect illustration of the teaching of Canon 19 of the Second Council of Orange: "That a man can be saved only when God shows mercy. Human nature, even though it remained in that sound state in which it was created, could by no means save itself, without the assistance of the Creator; hence since man cannot safe-guard his salvation without the grace of God, which is a gift, how will be be able to restore what he has lost without the grace of God?"

Finally, what a great grace that this sick man is willing to have his friends help him out. He needs help. He knows it. They are honest enough to accept his cry for help. He is willing to expose his need to those about him, trusting in their friendship and good will. That is a beautiful thing. In our own day, there is certainly plenty of opportunity for 'self-exposure'. Whether it is Facebook or Twitter, blogs or newspapers, there is a great compulsion to reveal (however carefully edited) our neediness. What is lacking, however, is the desire to have anything done about it. There is a perverse need to proclaim to anyone who is listening: 'look at my disfigurement, isn't it horrific? And it's all mine.'

In our Church bulletin during Lent, there was an insert that read, in part: "God loves us enough to accept us as we are, but too much to leave us as we are." Thus, the sick man in this narrative lends a good example and stands in stark contrast to the cultivated selfishness that is so much on display now. Let me just say that I am in no way intending to cast aspersions on particular individuals. What is truly called for, as evidenced by the Prodigal Son, is honesty and compassion; meeting people where they are at, but not being content to leave them there.

"Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." (Lk. 15:10) Do you know what follows immediately upon today's selection from St. Luke? The story of the Prodigal Son. It clearly illustrates in depth what Jesus is trying to get across to His hearers by means of the two preceeding examples and it is a lesson in the necessity of self-awareness. "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." So the question is, do we take this as a complaint in the manner of the scribes and Pharisees in today's Gospel (which is the attitude as well of the older brother) or do we take this as an opportunity (as both the father and the younger son do)? Are we going to be needlessly devoured and consumed, put on display for all the world to see our disfigurement? Or shall we rather embrace the Cross, not as an end in itself, but as the means to give us our bearings, to give purpose to our wounds, to call us to obedience to the Father Who loves us, to save us from devouring ourselves in the sight of a deceitful master who only wants us to spite the One he decisively rejected long ago. Yes, indeed – the Lord Jesus receives sinners and eats with us. And thank God for that.

Once more, in the words of Fr. Henri Nouwen: "It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God....[He] is not the patriarch who stays home, doesn't move, and expects his children to come to him, apologize for their aberrant behaviour, beg for forgiveness, and promise to do better. To the contrary, he leaves the house, ignoring his dignity by running toward them, pays no heed to apologies and promises of change, and brings them to the table richly prepared for them. I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it as difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who is looking for me while I am doing the hiding."

In summary then, from the Old Testament lesson at today's morning prayer: "The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee....For the Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and ransomed him from the hand of him that was stronger than he." (Jer. 31: 3, 11)

For Whitsunday

“Jesus said unto his disciples: If ye love me, keep my commandments” (Jn. 14:15). 

Something to think about today is the cultivation of the spiritual life, more specifically the idea of 'purity of heart' which is near and dear to the Christian monastic tradition from its very beginnings. You cannot serve God without a measure of self-control, and you cannot attain self-mastery apart from the grace of God. It is something that the Fathers of the Church understood to be indispensable to the spiritual life. They were given to understand their own weaknesses in the light of Divine purity clearly enough that they fled to the desert, either temporarily or permanently, to do battle with their demons and free their hearts to give themselves entirely to God. One of the early masters, Evagrius Ponticus, describes for us the gift of fear of the Lord in the context of the desert: “The fear of God strengthens faith, my son, and continence in turn strengthens this fear. Patience and hope make this latter virtue solid beyond all shaking and they also give birth to apatheia.”

The Greek term apatheia, or purity of heart, can be understood to include both moral and spiritual self-control. It is a virtue as well as a way of being and it is inseparable from the instruction in the Gospel to keep the commandments of God. As the desert Fathers were in it for the long haul, so are we. But instead of exposure to the harsh reality of the desert, our demons have many places to hide and disguise themselves in our bustle of activity. That is where the grace of the Holy Ghost is all the more necessary to us. In some ways, those of us 'in the world' face a much steeper climb on the road that is apatheia than those who have embraced the monastic life. Another take on this idea can be found in a sermon of Pope Gregory the Great, who offers us a helpful metaphor as well:

Whosoever abandoneth himself to unlawful desires, such an one plainly loveth not God, for thereby he setteth himself against God's good pleasure. Note the words: And my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him. Think, dearly beloved brethren, what a dignity it is, to have God abiding as a guest in our hearts. Surely if some rich man, or some powerful friend, were to come into our house, we would hasten to have the whole house cleaned, lest perchance when he came in, he should see aught to displease his eye. So let him that would make ready his soul as an abode for God, cleanse it from all the filth of evil works. (St. Gregory the Great, Homily 30 on the Gospel of St. John).

By the time we mature to the point of actively cultivating apatheia in our conversion, we are then able to make a true beginning in the spiritual life, as the desert fathers understood it. Everything that came before was simply by way of preparation, or house cleaning if you like. We may in fact spend a lifetime in the preparatory phases, but that’s okay. God is always generous enough to take us where we are at, and not where we (or others) might think we should be, and He knows that not all are able or intended to reach the heights of contemplation. And...we should depend on the grace of the Holy Spirit received at our baptism and confirmation. We can depend on it, always.

Let me follow this up with another quotation, this time from John Henry Newman:

Let us but consider how we have fallen from the light and grace of our Baptism. Were we now what that Holy Sacrament made us, we might ever 'go on our way rejoicing;' but having sullied our heavenly garments, in one way or other, in a greater or less degree (God knoweth and our own consciences too in a measure), alas! the Spirit of adoption has in part receded from us, and the sense of guilt, remorse, sorrow, and penitence must take His place. We must renew our confession, and seek afresh our absolution day by day, before we dare call upon God as 'our Father,' or offer up Psalms and Intercessions to Him. And, whatever pain and affliction meets us through life, we must take it as a merciful penance imposed by a Father upon erring children, to be borne meekly and thankfully, and as intended to remind us of the weight of that infinitely greater punishment, which was our desert by nature, and which Christ bore for us on the Cross (Newman, The Indwelling Spirit, sermon 19).

 

So, the quest for purity of heart, apatheia, is not a one-time deal. Neither is it always easy. But, we have been given all the resources that we need. God is not outdone in generosity, we see that time and again, cogently in the story of the first Christian Pentecost that was read in the Epistle this morning. This past week, in the course of receiving some spiritual direction, I was told that people often don't realise just how good and generous God is to us. As we read in the alternate Gospel given in the Prayer Book for today: “If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?”  

“Jesus said unto his disciples: If ye love me, keep my commandments.”

The Jesus Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

This is a prayer, not only of personal contrition, but also of: glorification, thanksgiving and supplication. More here. (Editorial note: ignore the comments there as they have been the victim of spam.)

An Easter sermon

Christ is Risen!

Do you hear the full import of those words, as spoken to us in the course of today's Liturgy? From the first lesson at morning prayer today, the prophet Isaiah says: "For thou hast made of a city an heap; of a defenced city a ruin: a palace of strangers to be no city; it shall never be built." (Is. 25:2) Since the Fall of mankind in the commission of Original Sin, we have built up many needless edifices. Out of self-generated fear, our forebears in the garden became ashamed to show themselves to the God who created them and knew them better than they knew themselves. To the civilising Law of Moses costly and useless personal burdens were added. The worship of the Temple, intended to be on behalf of the entire nation of Israel, became impossible without the exchange of currency. The glory of the Messiah was replaced with the poverty of human conceptions; no longer an emissary of the very life of God, but a political or a military leader who would do nothing more than improve conditions here on earth for a select few.

 

Way back on the second Sunday in Lent, the bulletin insert contained the following commentary on the Epistle: "God loves us enough to accept us as we are, but too much to leave us as we are." And indeed, the Law of Moses and the rites of the Temple were not only fulfilled but surpassed in the Upper Room, on Calvary, and in the empty tomb on the third day. What was destroyed were any fallible conceptions that had been added to these things and which did nothing but discredit the practice of religion and veil the covenant that God Himself had given to us. Thus we read: "And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations." (Is. 25:7) And yet, how often are we tempted still to veil our faith? In a long string of "what ifs", "I don't knows" and "if onlys" our own poverty is exposed and our hope is hidden. But, our worry really is quite needless. All of these things have already been taken care of. "For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress." (Is. 25:4a)

 

Consider what has been done for us. From an ancient, anonymous homily on Holy Saturday: "For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden....I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you."

 

This is quite earthy, dramatic imagery, but it corresponds exactly with the passion, death and descent into the place of departed spirits that Jesus undertook. And this is exactly what St. Paul is exhorting us to this morning. "For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God." (Col. 3:3) I don't know about you, but whenever I find myself at a graveside, the first thing that comes to mind isn't: this is great, how fortunate we are to be here! A grave is not a nice place. It is dirty, cold and confined. Neither is a cross. It is both physically and psychologically mortifying, meant to make death as ugly as possible. But these terrible things have been truly converted. The veil of uncertainty, anguish and despair is now permanently torn away. For, you see, our God has the uncanny ability to turn that which is hideous and filled with death into something perfectly beautiful and lifegiving. And just as our Lord Jesus Christ passed through the Cross into the Resurrection, so are we, of our very nature as Christian people, called to do likewise. In the words of St. Gregory Nazianzen: "Let a man give all things to him who gave himself for us as the price of redemption and as the substitute of our guilt. Nothing so great, however, can be given in return, as the offering of ourselves, if we rightly understand this mystery, and if we, for his sake, become all things, whatsoever he for our sakes became."

 

After all this, the beauty of our false constructions being torn away and the conversion of death into the way of eternal life, I admit that I find the Gospel selection for the principle service today somewhat more subdued than I think it ought to be. There is not the great proclamation of faith, 'My Lord and my God!', that Thomas will make later on during the course of the Liturgy. There is the fact that only the Beloved Disciple seems to have had immediate faith in the Resurrection. There is the troubling fact that we are told "as yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again from the dead." Mary Magdalen immediately assumes the worst, that someone has removed the body. The whole scene is almost too anti-climactic. What we won't hear liturgically is that Mary has remained behind and questions the man she assumes to be the gardener who in fact is the only one able to comfort her sorrow and reveal the truth of the situation.

 

"Mary Magdalene came and told the disciples that she had seen the Lord." What a tremendous relief it is to read those words. The faith of the Beloved Disciple is confirmed. The other Apostles are awakened to at least the possibility that what they had learned and received from Jesus were not in fact the ravings of a madman, but the truth of the living God.

 

And that, my friends, really speaks to the heart of why we are here doing what we do and believing what we believe. From the ancient Baals, to the fickle and self-serving deities of Mt. Olympus, from the humane wisdom of Confucius to the obedience demanded by Allah, right down to our own day where numerous self-declared atheists have rejected an anthropomorphic parody of God; none of these objects of our fear and devotion have ever spoken to the deepest need of the human heart, which is to hear: "I love you" from one who actually means it. Only in Jesus Christ, while He healed and preached, drove out demons and welcomed sinners, gave of Himself at the Last Supper and on Calvary, when He rose again and appeared to His first friends, has our God declared His love for us and shown us what it really means.

 

And so it is most chiefly in these things, but also every day that we are privileged to draw in the breath of life, both when we are filled with great faith and during those moments of crushing despair and fear of what is unknown, that we are able to "[b]ehold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us." Again, from that same ancient homily: "Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity." And if all that sounds too good to be true, way beyond our deserving, we have only to read again II Peter 1:4, "Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust." As our need was indeed beyond our condition to repair, so the remedy freely given is ten thousand times beyond our wildest imaginings. And it is not begrudgingly given, but generously. So ought it to be received in the hearts of all believers. "It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found."

Christ is Risen!

Brother Paphnutius - an ongoing parable (Part II)

"[T]hou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment. And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these."  (Mark 12: 30-31)

366 A.D. - elsewhere in Egypt

Since our last encounter, Br. Paphnutius has temporarily left his cave in order to secure some more supplies: reeds for making baskets, water, a fresh supply of coffee and some more papyrus. But he is never very happy about having to leave and would prefer to stay at home. You take quite a chance going out your front door in the morning. There is the opportunity to hear something edifying or perform a work of charity, but there is also the opportunity to criticise or look down on someone or to say something imprudent that you will regret later.

While buying necessities in Alexandria, Br. Paphnutius always stays with the brethren of the Sfeerspons* Skete. Their community is located right in the middle of town so it is not always the quietest place, particularly during harvest time. As you might expect, some (most?) of the monks there are not exactly thrilled with their current living arrangements. However, as they still have 15 more years left on their mortgage and the market for purchasing a monastery on a short sale just isn't there, the disgruntled brethren are stuck.

The first morning of Br. Paphnutius' present stay, the above quote from St. Mark's Gospel was included in the Vigil Office that day. Always a good reminder of the humility that we ought to cultivate at all times, it is particularly apt for those who aspire to holiness under vows. So you can imagine his surprise when, every day at noon, the brethren of Sfeerspons Skete appeared at their front gate and gave a collective (and loud!) "SHH!" to the townsfolk, then immediately returned to their enclosure.

Later, when he had a chance to speak with the abbot, Br. Paphnutius asked (per his usual custom in as few words as possible) about this strange occurence. "Oh?!" said the abbot. "I thought that was just some new mechanical device in the town making that noise. I need to see this for myself."

So the next day at noon Br. Paphnutius and the abbot of Sfeerspons Skete were waiting at the front gate when the brethren appeared just like clockwork for their daily (apparently unauthorised!) ritual. The abbot was horrified. In his former life, Br. Paphnutius would have laughed, but now he regards any act of selfishness and needless criticism as something to be mourned.

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Editorial comment: This is a ridiculous story, but it is intended to make a serious point.

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Some days later, as he was preparing to return home, Br. Paphnutius came to say goodbye to the abbot and noticed that the Skete was strangely quiet(er than usual). Upon asking the abbot about it (again, in as few words as possible), he was told that the entire community was sent out to apologise personally for their intrusions into the life of the town and each monk was to spend the night with a family to see what their lives were like and to appreciate their circumstances more. The abbot hoped that this would bring about a bit more compassion in the jaded brethren and that they would learn to thrive in the midst of the messiness (and sometimes noisiness) of everyday human life.

The moral of (this part) of the story: We do indeed love ourselves quite enough. We live with our own needs, wants and desires so intimately that it seems only natural that they should take the highest priority. What Jesus says here is that we are commanded to bear in mind that everyone else is in the same situation and the needs of others will sometimes (often?) press against our own. Not only is that okay, it is one of the beneficial things about living here this sometimes messy, noisy human life where not everything goes "according to plan" and life is "interrupted" by other people making their own noise and their own mess. And...that is a good thing!

To be continued...

* Dutch: party pooper (lit. "atmosphere sponge") 

Continuing on from the previous post...

I am posting below another excerpt from the commentary on Mark's Gospel that I am working on (still chapter 1). I am particularly interested in getting feedback on this part. What do you think? Is the point well made? Lacking focus? Too negative? Just right? All of the above? None of the above?

Also, I am thinking about the next installment of Br. Paphnutius, but not quite sure where it is going yet.

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And at even, when the sun did set, they brought unto him all that were diseased, and them that were possessed with devils. And all the city was gathered together at the door. And he healed many that were sick of divers diseases, and cast out many devils; and suffered not the devils to speak, because they knew him. (vs. 32-34)

There is on the internet something called "Yahoo Answers" and, as the name implies, it is a forum where you can ask questions and pose observations that anyone is free to reply to. As you can imagine, it is quite the cross-section of contemporary western culture. (I find it quite fascinating from a sociological point of view.) There are all the usual things you would expect: kids asking for homework help (or hoping you will just do their assignment for them), automotive questions, dating and relationship quandries, political debates and, of course, religious discussions.

When it comes to religion, specifically Christianity, there are an awful lot of terms bandied about with what I imagine is a rather limited comprehesion of what they really (or what the questioner imagines them to) mean. Words like "sin", "God", "hell", and "atheism" just to name a few. Invariably, the thrust of the argument runs something akin to: this doesn't make any sense to me, therefore it couldn't possibly be true, therefore it is not so.

I fear that so much damage has been done in the name of "religion" (which I am here contrasting with authentic, informed Christian belief), that some people have been pemanently scarred by it. "God", for them, can be a grumpy old man in the sky, a distant (and useless) mental construct or simply the supervisor of His fearsome spokesmen in pulpits everywhere where actual Christianity is exchanged for politics, race-baiting, gender concerns, sexual orientation or any of a whole host of other 'gods' to be worshipped, feared or rejected as the case may be. (This always puts me in mind of Psalm 138:1, which says "I will praise thee with my whole heart: before the gods will I sing praise unto thee." Who are the gods of today? Well, Mt. Olympus may have been vacated, but just look at the tabloids, the evening news, the self-help section of your local bookstore or celebrity marketing campaigns and you will find just about everything being offered for worship, consumption or rejection.)

We really do need to start over again and re-teach what Christianity actually is. And these verses from St. Mark are a good case in point. Rumour spread about what Jesus had done and look what happens. He becomes a consumer commodity, a healing/exorcism factory. Now I don't mean to paint with too broad a brush and imply that everyone who came to Him in these verses had the same attitude. But no doubt there were many who did, and who continue to do so today.

And whether it is due to misconceptions, scandal at the poor behaviour or bizarre beliefs of other Christians (and "christians") or simply to personal ignorance, I would say to anyone who has declared themselves to be an atheist: I probably don't believe in the god that you have rejected either. What you fear and imagine God to be, that is certainly not the One encountered in the Scriptures, in the teaching of the orthodox Fathers, in those among us here on earth who are already so in love with God that they manifest the charity of heaven here and now.

And if you say to me: where do I even begin? I would say: right here. I started this book in order to perhaps make the Christian religion a little more accessible. The Gospel of Mark is short. It can be read in a matter of days with little effort. And, it tells you everything you need to know without getting in to more advanced theology.

And if you are gun-shy about attending a Church, I can't say that I blame you. Some are as bad as they seem, some go about doing and believing that which is essential without trumpeting their achievements, some are filled with the self-righteous, some are filled with the actually righteous.

But there is something so essential to community, something hard-wired in to us as humans to depend on each other in relationship, that it is almost impossible to 'go it alone' (excepting, of course, those with the privileged vocation to be hermits). So if what you have tried doesn't work, go somewhere else. Keep looking, praying that you be lead where you need to be. Be open, but wary, at the same time. But, wherever you are at, don't forget that Jesus loves you. He wants you to come to Him alone. He has already done all the work that needs to be done in order to gain eternal life. He sees your wounds and doesn't hold them against you. He knows you better than you know yourself. He is ready to give you everything that you need in this life, but not everything that you think you want. He only asks one thing, that you let yourself be a recipient of His grace.* He does not ask anything from you but yourself. And there it is again, our own need stands starkly exposed. Once again the strength of a relationship will be tested. [This is referring to a previous section where I talk about how it is often easier to be generous to others than it is to ask for their generosity toward us in our own needs. It compels us to test the waters as it were, to see where we really stand in relation to those we call friends. And that can be a risky thing, frought with fear and uncertainty. What if what is actually there is not what I imagined or desired it to be?] But there is no need to fear. Others may disappoint, but He can handle it.

*Even that itself is of God. While it is true that we are free to make decisions, that does not mean that we can do so in and of ourselves (a heresy called semi-pelagianism).The very desire for God comes from God Himself. He gives us the grace to will to come to Him, but that does not make the choice any less our own. As has been said elsewhere, God's foreknowledge does not in any way lessen our own freedom.



Something new

In the spirit of a new year, I have decided to try something new as well. In the same manner and spirit as these blog posts and other things I have produced, I am working on a book-length commentary on the Gospel of St. Mark. What follows is a part of what will become chapter 1. It is by no means a scholarly effort, but rather a way to look behind the text and flesh out some ideas. Let me know what you think.

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The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God; As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee. They voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. John did baptize in the wilderrness, and preach the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins. (vs. 1-4)

The English word "Gospel" is derived from the Greek "εύαγγέλιου" meaning "good news". Thus we have here the beginning of the fulfillment of the Old Testament in Jesus Christ. The great disobedience perpetrated in the Garden of Eden and the subsequent expulsion of mankind from paradise is now to be undone in the ultimate act of obedience and generosity that is the Incarnation.

Referencing both past and present, a call has gone out to all those who will listen and who have their eyes and ears and hearts attuned to what the Lord God is saying. The time of preparation is about to be fulfilled.

Two references from the Old Testament here are Isaiah 40:3 ("The voice of him that crieth in the wildeness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.") and the idea of God appearing "before thy face". Think of Moses on Mt. Sinai, but especially here of Elijah, particularly I Kings 19:1-17. No doubt, as seen previously, challenging things are in store for the one who has been called. At the very least when reading these verses, we ought to bear in mind Moses leading the people through the wilderness. Unlike us, however, he was only allowed to look upon the Promised Land before he died. So the Good News for us is that we are indeed allowed to cross over into all that the Christian life has to offer.

Having incurred the wrath of Jezebel (I Kings 19:2), Elijah flees into the wilderness and begs the Lord to take his life. Acknowledging that things have been and indeed will be difficult, the angel of the Lord brings him nourishment. Right here is a shadow of the sacramental system to be inaugurated in the New Testament for the use of the Church. As Elijah was twice nourished by the gift of God, so we both at the very beginning of our Christian lives are refreshed by Baptism and at regular intervals are provided with Holy Communion for "the strengthening and refreshing of our souls by the Body and Blood of Christ"(1928 American BCP Catechism, p. 582).

As we will see in chapter 6, the fate of the voice in the wilderness is as likely as not to be martyrdom. For in the desert, which is a place hostile to all but the hardiest life, nothing superfluous can survive. That is why the early monastics fled to the deserts, in order to burn away their selfishness and pretence, to be purified in an arid place where only what is essential will survive. Thus it is a highly symbolic place that can effect what it signifies.

So already in these opening verses we are told that there is Good News here, that what was long fortold will come to pass. In Moses, Elijah and John the Baptist the Christian life is referenced in both its sacramental and sacrificial aspects. We know where we are going, but cannot get there without passing through death to eternal life. It will be a difficult go, but we are given very real helps to sustain us. It will cost us something dear in terms of our own identity, our relationships with other people or institutions and it may even cost us our lives. This is the Good News we have now been introduced to.