Dunstan (c. 909-988): The Contemplative Monk In Action

Dunstan, born c. 909, appeared destined from greatness from his youth. He was schooled by the Irish monks who occupied the Abbey of Glastonbury, and even as a youth Dunstan optimistically envisioned its future restoration.


He eventually became a monk at Glastonbury. Full of enthusiasm, he was instrumental in initiating the rigorous Benedictine Rule there and also in getting the scriptorium reopened so that studies could again begin. He himself was artistically talented, in lettering, pictures, and as an illuminator. He also had expertise working with metal and casting bells. At length, he was made Abbot of Glastonbury.


His monastic successes naturally drew attention to him. He was swept up into English politics at a time when the Church and country were war-ravaged and decaying, serving as Royal Treasurer under King Edred, and then as Bishop of Worcester and London, and Archbishop of Canterbury, under King Edgar. In time, he was responsible for a much more peaceful England, spiritually, socially, and economically.


Dunstan and two of his former pupils, both Bishops also, became "contemplatives-in-action". Theirs was the spirit which, many years later, Thomas Merton would express in A Letter On the Contemplative Life, written in 1967 as a response to Pope Paul VI's for "a message of contemplatives to the world": "...The contemplative life is...the search for peace not in an abstract exclusion of all outside reality, not in a barren negative closing of the senses upon the world, but in the openness of love...The message of hope the contemplative offers...is...that whether you understand or not, God loves you, is present to you, lives in you, dwells in you, calls you, saves you, and offers you an understanding and light which are like nothing you ever found in books or heard in sermons...it is the intimate union in the depths of your own heart, of God's spirit and your own secret inmost self, so that you and He are in all truth One Spirit..."

On Saturday morning, May 19, 988, Dunstan gathered his clergy. The Mass was celebrated in his presence, after which he received the Last Rites, and died. Dunstan's final words are reported to have been, "He hath made a remembrance of his wonderful works, being a merciful and gracious Lord: He hath given food to them that fear Him." The English people accepted him as a saint shortly thereafter. He was formally canonized in 1029, and later that year, at the Synod of Winchester, Dunstan's feast was ordered to be kept solemnly throughout England. 

Easter 4 - The Good Shepherd of Peace & Reconciliation

Note: This was the first homily I ever preached in Spanish, on Easter 4, 2008, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Healdsburg. I’m sure my Spanish is faulty, but the congregation that day assured me that they got the gist of it.

*   *   *

(Este sermón es una combinación de mis esfuerzos de adaptar un discurso dado por Padre Franco Hegedus, junto con algunos de mis propias ideas. Debo confesar que utilicé un sitio web de la traducción, así que algunas las palabras a lo mejor no son las mejores; si eso es el caso, yo les pido su perdón.)

Hay un obispo Episcopal que adora decir historias que él aprendió de indios americanos, muchos de quienes son Episcopales. Aquí está uno de ellos: Un hombre sabio entre los indios fue preguntado por su nieto acerca del conflicto y la discordia en el mundo hoy. El anciano pensó por un momento y entonces contestó, "Mi niño, hay dos perros que combaten dentro del corazón. Uno está repleto de la ira, del odio, y de la rabia. El otro está repleto del amor, del perdón, y de la paz". El anciano se detuvo, y él y su nieto se sentaron por un momento en el silencio. ¿Finalmente el chico habló, "Abuelo, cuál perro ganará la batalla en el corazón? ¿El uno llenó del odio o el uno llenó del amor"? El anciano miró a su nieto y contestó, "El perro que yo alimento ganaré". 

Nuestro mundo está repleto del conflicto. Nosotros lo podemos ver diario en la televisión y leer acerca de ello en nuestros periódicos. Nosotros lo vemos en nuestras calles. El mundo es a menudo un lugar peligroso, si vivimos en el Oriente Medio o aquí en los Estados Unidos. Todavía, realmente el conflicto siempre es luchado dentro del corazón humano. El hombre sabio indio fue correcto. Demasiado de nosotros alimenta los perros de la ira, de la violencia, y del odio en corazones. 

Jesús supo este bien, porque su mundo fue realmente no diferente de nuestro propio. El corazón humano no cambia tan rápidamente ni fácilmente. El mundo siempre tiene su cuota de "ladrones y bandidos" equiparé para arrebatar y dispersar la multitud, como Jesús elucida en el Evangelio de hoy (San Juan 10:1-10). 

Queremos pensar que estamos en el control de nuestra vida, que nadie nos puede doler si nosotros no los permitimos hacer así, y que ningún problema es tan grande que nosotros no lo podemos resolver. Pero los acontecimientos, especialmente en los pasados pocos años, nos dan razón para dudar esta convicción. Nosotros no somos seguros aún en nuestros propios mundos pequeños: en nuestro país, en nuestras comunidades, en la Iglesia, ni en nuestras familias. Somos tan vulnerables a nuestras propias maldades y defectos como somos vulnerables a terroristas lejanos y revolucionarios. Todos tenemos hambre para el amor y la compasión. Pero el mundo es despedazado por el odio, por la ira, y por la violencia. A pesar de la apariencia de la orden y la disciplina, la condición humana se queda como desordenada y caótica como una multitud de ovejas sin un pastor. 

Quizás nosotros no habíamos escogido la oveja como la imagen para describirse a los cristianos en este mundo de soluciones tecnológicas digitales y sofisticadas. Pero en realidad, es probable que tenemos más en común con la oveja de la historia de Jesús que querríamos admitir. 

Como las multitudes que ellos tendieron, los pastores en el tiempo de Jesús vivieron afuera bajo el sol y la lluvia por días o semanas a la vez. Su trabajo era dificíl.  Pero en contraste a la oveja, los pastores estuvieron atentos y resignados, mirando para el peligro y el problema, proporcionando pasto y agua. El pastor conocía su multitud como ninguna otra persona. Y las ovejas lo siguían porque ellos conocían su voz. 

Jesús se llama "la puerta para la oveja". Algunos eruditos dicen que pastores de ese tiempo colocarían sus propios cuerpos a través de la pequeña apertura del cerco de oveja durante tiempos del peligro, arriesgándose su propia vida por la multitud. Quizás es esta imagen que Jesús tiene presente, su propia presencia extendida para salvar nuestras inseguridades. "Quienquiera que entra por mí," Jesús nos asegura, "será salvado, y entrará y saldrá y encontrará pasto". 

Para nosotros es demasiado fácil perder la dirección en nuestra vida, y desorientarnos y perder nuestro sentido de quienes somos y dónde vamos. Es muy fácil para nosotros extraviar a la oveja perdida. En este instante somos muy vulnerables al "ladrones y bandidos" del mundo, muy vulnerables a los instintos más destructivos que quedan en cada corazón humano: el odio, la ira, y la violencia. Cada uno de nosotros es capaz del pecado y dolor.  Siempre hay varias fuerzas en la guerra dentro de nosotros. ¿Cuáles fuerzas alimentaremos nosotros? 

El obispo, que mentioné antes, quiere terminar su historia del indio anciano de esta manera: "Cuál de los perros ganará"? el chico preguntó a su abuelo. "El que yo alimento ganará," contestó el anciano. Pero entonces él continuó, "Mi niño,  la alimentación de un perro o el otro es sólo parte de la respuesta.  El Espíritu Grande  alimenta cada uno de nosotros. Es por el poder del Espíritu Grande que aprendemos alimentar a los demás". 

Hace tres semanas, en Viernes Santo, un joven atacó y apuñaló a dos chicas en la comunidad de Lago Escondido de Valle, en el Condado de Lago: una chica disminuida, de catorce años de edad, y su hermana pequeña, de diez años de edad. La chica más vieja, aunque fue herida, pudo correr a la casa de su familia para la ayuda. La niña fue tomada al Hospital de la Comunidad de Redbud, pero los médicos no la pudieron salvar su vida. Más tarde, en la primera declaración pública de la familia de la chica, su padre, Dr. Ronald Walker, que ha ayudado a muchas pobres en su comunidad como un médico, dijo esto: "Perdonamos al hombre que tomó a nuestra hija de nosotros...porque perdonando a los otros, nosotros mismos somos perdonado". Eso es una expresión asombrosa de la fe y la compasión genuina: un ejemplo verdadero de la presencia del Espíritu Santo de Jesús resucitado. 

Hemos venido esta tarde al banquete del Pascual ansiosos para comer de la abundancia de Señor. Nuestra corazones escuchan para la voz del buen Pastor que puede traer nos la paz y reconciliación de Dios, si nosotros lo pedimos.  Aunque nuestro mundo continúa ser un lugar de la ira, de la violencia, y del peligro,  aquí encontramos el Espíritu Santo de Jesús resucitado.  Aquí el banquete nos alimenta para el viaje adelante.  Cuando somos alimentados, nosotros ahora estamos dispuestos para salir de aquí y para alimentar a los demás en el nombre de Cristo. 

Julian of Norwich and Divine Wisdom

The Order of Julian community celebrates the feast of Julian of Norwich today, since yesterday the 3rd Sunday in Easter took preeminence. Today's first Office reading from Wisdom (7:21-26) speaks of Personified Wisdom, "the fashioner of all things" and Teacher extraordinaire. Julian, in Chapter 58 of the Revelations of Divine Love, presents a sort of theological framework for understanding the Risen Christ/God the Son in the role of Wisdom, interestingly couched in largely feminine terms. Probably not by accident, since the Greek Sophia = Wisdom is a feminine noun. "...the Second Person of the Trinity", says Julian, "is our Mother in human nature in our essential creation. In Him we are grounded and rooted, and he is our Mother in mercy by taking on our fleshliness..." 


The Wisdom of Solomon describes the qualities and characteristics of Personified Wisdom, many of which have a kind of feminine flavor:
* intelligent
* holy
* unique
* manifold
* subtle
* mobile
* clear
* unpolluted
* distinct
* invulnerable
* loving the good
* keen
* irresistible
* beneficent
* humane
* steadfast
* sure
* free from anxiety
* all-powerful
* overseeing all
* penetrating through all spirits
* more mobile than any motion
* a breath of the power of God
* a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty
* a reflection of eternal light
* a spotless mirror of the working of God


Julian continues: "...in our Father, God Almighty, we have our being; and in our Mother of mercy we have our redeeming and restoring, in whom our parts are one-ed and all made complete man; and by the repaying and giving in grace of the Holy Spirit, we are fulfilled.


And our essence is in our Father, God Almighty,
and our essence is in our Mother, God all Wisdom,
and our essence is in our Lord the Holy Spirit, God all Goodness,
for our essence is total in each Person of the Trinity, which is One God."


The essence of Blessed Julian's Revelations is that she comes to understand the nature of God through the divine Wisdom and Love which she sees embodied in Jesus the Christ. Julian "reads" as her revelatory text the message of love which is revealed in the suffering body of Jesus on the Cross, as well as in his subsequent being raised up and glorified. In her serious illness, mentioned at the beginning of the Revelations, Julian had longed for "a more true consciousness of the Passion of Christ." Her seeing wasn't just visual. It was something she did with her entire being: body, mind and spirit. In the same way that the practice of lectio divina = sacred/divine reading utilizes Scripture to wash over our souls so frequently and deeply that it begins to guide and direct how we think, speak and act, so does the Paschal Mystery operate for Julian in absorbing the "all Wisdom" which is our essence. This manner of "seeing" in Julian's Revelations is meant to convey how her and our learning of Christ's message of love and trust, Christ's Wisdom, not merely with our mind, but with our whole being, might help her and us, her "even Christians", to live continually in God's Presence.


Sergei Bulgakov goes even step further in saying: "The Church in the world [which is you and me] is Sophia in process of becoming...God created the world only that He might deify it and himself become all in all to it...The Church is the Body of Christ in virtue of his Incarnation: it is the universal human nature of the second Adam, created Wisdom, inseparably and unconfusedly united in him with his divine nature, that divine Wisdom which is 'the fullness of him that fills all in all'..."


I think Mother Julian would've liked that!

Emmaus: Christ in the Breadline

Fr. Robert Schreiter, C.PP.S., a priest of the Congregation of the Missionaries of the Precious Blood, of which I’m a former member, calls the Emmaus story (Luke 24:13-35) a “master narrative” into which you and I can lay our life story, and thereby discover Jesus’ presence in our own journey. 

No one today really knows the exact location of Emmaus [Heb. Hammat = warm spring; Arabic Imwas] of the Gospel. Many have claimed it to be 'Am'was/Ammaus/Im’was. Such, indeed, is the tradition of the Church of Jerusalem, attested to as early as the 4th century by Eusebius of Caesarea and St. Jerome, a tradition confirmed by pilgrims, at least to the time of the Crusades, possibly even back to the 3rd century, to Julius Africanus and Origen. The question of identity hinges greatly on two differing ways of reckoning its distance from the city of Jerusalem. Many biblical commentaries, some as old as the 4th or 5th century seem to support the Emmaus of the Gospel as having been 160 stadia from Jerusalem, the modern 'Am'was being at 176 stadia. Despite its antiquity, this tradition doesn’t seem to be well founded. Most manuscripts/versions place Emmaus at only 60 stadia from Jerusalem, and they are more numerous and generally more ancient than those of the former group. Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford) defines a stádion as about 600 Greek feet or 606 ¾ English feet. That would make 60 stadia a distance of about 6.9 miles. 

Very probably the number 160 stadia is a correction by Origen and his school to make the Gospel text agree with the Palestinian tradition of their time. The distance of 160 stadia would imply about a six-hour walk, highly unlikely, for the disciples had only gone out to the country and could return to Jersualem before the gates were shut (Mark 16:12; Luke:24:33). Finally, the Emmaus of the Gospel is said to be a village, while 'Am'was was the flourishing capital of a "toparchy". Josephus mentions a village called Ammaus, 60 stadia from Jerusalem, where Vespasian and Titus stationed 800 veterans. It’s likely that this could have been the Emmaus of the Gospel, though it was probably destroyed at the time of the revolt of Bar-Cocheba (A.D. 132-35) under Hadrian. Its site was unknown as early as the 3rd century. Origen and his friends merely placed the Gospel Emmaus at Nicopolis, the only Emmaus known in their time. Similar proposals by some modern scholars of Koubeibeh, Abou Gosh, Koulonieh, Beit Mizzeh, etc., as the site of Gospel Emmaus, are highly unlikely.

It's said that the site of the original Emmaus had a long history of military violence, having served as a camp for Judas Macchabeus (“The Hammer”) in the 2nd century B.C. The village was burned by the Romans in 4 B.C. as punishment for periodic revolts, during one of which some 2000 rebels are said to have been crucified. Emmaus, therefore, seems to have been a place of trauma and defeat. It’s likely that the memories of all this were still fresh in the minds of people at the time Luke was writing his Gospel account.

On the day of Jesus’ resurrection, “That very day, the first day of the week”, the two disciples were travelling to Emmaus. Note that this seems to be exactly contrary to what Jesus had told them to do: “Stay in Jerusalem.” At any rate, appearing as an unknown traveller himself, the Risen Jesus falls in with them as they converse together on recent events and their significance. “What are you guys discussing so seriously?” Luke notes that “they stood still, looking sad.” So common to our experience when life, for whatever reason, stops us dead in our tracks. One of them, Cleopas, can hardly believe that this traveller hasn’t heard what’s been going on the last few days. Jesus presses him: “What things?” Cleopas pours out a brief summary the whole story of Jesus’ ministry, his arrest and condemnation, and his death, ending on a note of discouragement, almost hopelessness. “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place.” He goes on to relate that some women in their group had gone to the tomb that morning, found it empty, and had come back to the others with some wild tale of seeing “a vision of angels who said that he was alive.” Apparently, some of the leaders went to check it out, and came back satisfied that the women weren’t so crazy after all. The problem remained, however: no one had seen Jesus.

Obviously, these men, like you and me many times, were stuck in their inability to figure out what was going on, to put it all together. Ever the masterful Teacher, Jesus responds by putting their story about what they told him into the context of the larger story of God’s mighty action going on in their lives, right under their noses! “...beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.”

Just at this point, Luke tells us, the disciples arrived at their destination, while Jesus continued walking on ahead. “Wait,” they said, “please join us.” It wasn't just a polite invitation: Luke says “they urged him strongly”. They’d apparently subconsciously picked up on something about this traveller and his wisdom, and they found themselves wanting to hear more. “Stay with us, because it’s almost evening and the day is nearly over.” Jesus takes them up on their gracious offer, and they go in to share a meal. 

Then comes the “Aha!” moment. In the course of the meal, Jesus takes bread, blesses it, and gives it to them. Finally, says Luke, “their eyes were opened, and they recognized him...and he vanished from their sight.” Eyes blinking, they look in amazement at one another, and suddenly it all makes sense. “Weren’t our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” This was and is the key to overcoming their and our deep inner pain and anxiety, of transforming their and our memory, of allowing them and us to get on with our task of tending to ourselves and to others with the love which Jesus taught us.

The disciples jump up immediately, eager to get back to Jerusalem and share their sighting of Jesus with the Apostles and their companions. The latter had their own story to tell, namely, that Jesus had confirmed his being raised up by appearing to their leader, Simon Peter. Not to be outdone, the two disciples fill them in on all the details of their walk and talk with Jesus, and the subsequent meal.

This touching story is foundational for the Church, because ever since that time Christians experience the Risen Lord’s presence by sharing Scripture and bread-breaking or Sacrament: the sacred dimension for all our relationships. How can we, as we walk the journeys of our daily lives, help others to recognize the “Aha!” moment of Jesus‘ constant presence? How do we help ourselves and others to deal with the “we had hoped” moments, whether those involve cancer, divorce, war, dreams unfulfilled, love, etc.? How can we reframe ours and others‘ stories in terms of God’s big story for humankind? Are you and I willing to greet the unexpected stranger(s), to walk and accompany them equally, to break bread (literally or with Scripture) with them, to be Christ’s risen presence to them? 

“Resurrection is not always immediately apparent...The risen Christ may look just like any other homeless [person].” (Barbara Rossing) If you want to visualize this in an image or icon, you can do no better than to gaze on, reflect on, the wonderful drawing (above) by Fritz Eichenberg, Christ in the Breadline. May it help our hearts to “burn” as it speaks to us.

   

St. Monica: A Mother's Prayer Answered

Anyone who's been parent to a strong-willed child, particularly a teenager or young adult, readily admires and appreciates a woman like St. Monica, mother of St. Augustine of Hippo.


Augustine was one of those kids whom, from the time he was a baby, you could tell was headed for trouble.  He’s quite candid about it all in his famous Confessions: "...I wished to make my wants known to those who could satisfy them.  Yet I could not do so...So I tossed my limbs about and uttered sounds...When they would not obey me, either because they did not understand or because it would be harmful, I grew angry at older ones who were not subject to me and at children for not waiting on me, and took it out on them by crying..."  Of his boyhood he says: "...I did not love study and hated to be driven to it...I would have learned nothing unless forced to it...I detested the Greek language...The first stages of our education, when we learn reading, writing, and arithmetic, I considered no less a burden and punishment than all the Greek courses..."  


By age sixteen Augustine had discovered girls: "...Where was I in that sixteenth year of my body's age?...the madness of lust, licensed by human shamelessness...took me completely under its scepter, and I clutched it with both hands..."  Always competitive, Augustine and his friends tried to outdo each other: "...I ran headlong with such great blindness that I was ashamed to be remiss in vice in the midst of my comrades...I pretended that I had done what I had not done...See with what companions I ran about the streets...I willed to commit theft, and I did so, not because I was driven to it by any need... For I stole a thing of which I had plenty of my own and of much better quality...In a garden nearby...there was a pear tree, loaded with fruit that was desirable  neither in appearance nor in taste.  Late one night -- to which hour, according to our pestilential custom, we had kept up our street games -- a group of very bad youngsters set out to shake down and rob this tree...we did this to do what pleased us for the reason that it was forbidden..."


Amazingly, Augustine managed to finish his schooling and ended up as a professor in Carthage: a sort of 4th century "yuppie", engaged in philosophical discussion and teaching others by day; carousing, enjoying adult theater shows, and carrying on numerous sexual liaisons by night.  So brazen that he admits to God: "...Even during the celebration of Your mysteries, within the walls of Your church, I dared to desire and to arrange an affair for procuring the fruit of death..."  But Augustine was miserable, unhappy, almost despairing, intellectually and spiritually confused.  One can feel the anguish in his cry to God: "Give me chastity and continence, but not yet!"


Through all these early years the one person who stood by him, trying over and over to get him on the straight-and-narrow, was Monica, although in the Confessions she comes in for her share of parental criticism by Augustine.  But her heart was in the right place, as, frankly, was Augustine's -- even in the midst of his debauchery and intellectual error. More than anything, Monica, herself a devout Catholic, wanted her son to find Christ.  Regarding this, in Book 3 of the Confessions, Augustine tells of a dream which Monica had.  She saw herself standing on a wooden measuring rod, symbolizing the rule of faith.  Though heavily grieving, she saw a young man coming towards her -- splendid,  joyful, and smiling. Asking her why she was so sad and was crying, she responded that it was because she perceived Augustine as being spiritually lost.  The young man told her that she could rest secure: he "instructed her that she should attend and see that where she was, there was I also..."   When Monica looked again, Augustine was there, standing on the same measuring rod.  Relating all this later to Augustine, he insisted that she'd got it wrong; that it really meant that she shouldn't despair of becoming what he already was. "...'No!' she said.  'It was not said to me, 'Where he is, there also are you,' but 'Where you are, there also is he.'"  


It took several more years for Augustine to work his way through to the miracle of conversion.  In the meantime, Monica went to Ambrose, the great bishop of Milan, and begged him to talk to Augustine.  She knew that Ambrose had the expertise and the academic knowledge to refute Augustine's Manichean beliefs.   Ambrose, experienced as he was, knew that that approach would come to naught.  Augustine, he said, was "lacking in docility", and would be closed to Ambrose's arguments.  Essentially, Ambrose concluded that "All we can do is pray."  Well, Monica wasn't buying that, although she'd done a whole lot of praying over the past 30 some years! Augustine observes: "...she still would not keep quiet, but by her entreaties and flowing tears urged [Ambrose] all the more to see me and discuss matters with me..." He observes further that Ambrose "...became a little vexed".  He told her: "Go away from me now. As you live, it is impossible that the son of such tears should perish..."


Ambrose was dead-on right.  On Easter Sunday, 387, Augustine was bathed in the waters of Baptism.  Not only him, but also his friend, Alypius, and, more importantly, his own fourteen year old son, Adeodatus, "gift from God", the fruit of his fiancé's and his relationship.  This unnamed woman, whom Augustine admits to loving, and for whom he was willing to wait, was two years too young for them to be legally married, and so she was returned to Africa, never to be seen again. Sadly, Adeodatus died three years later, at age 17, and in the fall of 387, not even a year after they'd been baptized, Augustine's beloved mother, Monica, died. In Augustine’s own words: “On the ninth day, then, of her sickness, and in the fifty-sixth year of her age, and in the thirty-third of mine, that religious and holy soul was freed from the body.”


So much loss, but because of Monica's tears, because of her refusal to take "No" for an answer, so incredibly much gain. “...you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy...and no one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:20 & 22) Augustine had found himself and also the true Love of his life.  Who could forget the famous passage which Augustine, reflecting on his earlier life, wrote in Book 10: "Late have I love you, O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you! Behold, you were within me, while I was outside...You were with me, but I was not with you...You have called to me...You have blazed forth with light...and you have put my blindness to flight!...I have tasted you, and I hunger and thirst after you.  You have touched me, and I have burned for your peace..." 


Augustine recounts that once, as he and Monica were conversing at the window, she said, “What do I here any longer?” He goes on to say: “I heard afterwards also, that when we were at Ostia, she with a mother's confidence, when I was absent, one day discoursed with certain of my friends about the contempt of this life, and the blessing of death: and when they were amazed at such courage which You had given to a woman, and asked, ‘Whether she were not afraid to leave her body so far from her own city?’ she replied, ‘Nothing is far to God; nor was it to be feared lest at the end of the world, God should not recognize whence He were to raise me up.’”


What truly mattered to St. Monica was that God had heard her insistent years-long prayer, as she told Augustine not long before she died: “...[M]y mother said, ‘Son, for my own part I have no further delight in any thing in this life. What I do here any longer, and for what I am here, I know not, now that my hopes in this world are accomplished. One thing there was for which I desired to linger for a while in this life, that I might see you a Catholic Christian before I died. My God has done this for me more abundantly, that I should now see you withal, despising earthly happiness, become His servant: what do I here?’”

SS. Philip & James: Seeing Is Believing

Special Collections, Cleveland State University Library

Joseph C. Motto 

In the midst of some personally trying days this past week -- the death of my father's widow, the ongoing terminal illness of a close friend, family concerns, yes, and even the mixed emotions surrounding the announcement of Osama Bin Laden's death -- I can't express how comforting it was to enter into this morning's meditation using texts from the feast of SS. Philip and James, Apostles. That's James the Less, by the way, the son of Alphaeus, in contrast to James the Greater (one of the Boanerges Boys), brother of John and also an Apostle, and James, the brother of Jesus, who was Bishop of Jerusalem and then a martyr. I make that notation solely for my own feeble mind, because I'm always mixing the Jameses up, along with the Gregorys!

I found great solace in the message from Isaias (30:18-21): "The Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him...He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry...your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'"  

Paul, in 2nd Corinthians (4:1-6) continues the message with the comforting words: "...we do not lose heart", immediately going on to speak of "the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God" found in our hearts in "the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ."

In John's Gospel (14:6-14) Jesus continues Paul's theme by reminding Thomas and Philip how he, Jesus, uniquely images the Father: "If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him...Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?" Jesus tells them that, if they're having difficulty setting their hearts on him, at least "believe me because of the works themselves" because "the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these..." It resonates with the assurance which John gives in his first Letter (1:1-10), part of today's Office: "...We declare to you...what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands...we have seen it and testify to it, and declare to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was revealed to us...his son Jesus Christ." There are also overtones and undertones from yesterday's Gospel (John 20:19-31) where Jesus says to Thomas: "Have you believed because you have seen? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet come to believe."

Sitting awhile with these passages brought at least a modicum of peace, knowing that in the face of Jesus we come to recognize the One who's the bearer for us of God's graciousness, mercy, wisdom, the One who speaks a loving word behind us, "This is the way; walk in it." However it is that you and I "see", we find ourselves, even in the face of all that bothers us, capable of doing for ourselves and for others "greater works", greater generosity, greater understanding, greater love, than perhaps we thought was possible. 

Seeing is believing!    

Called To Common Mission: 2001-2011

Homily given 5/1/11 at Shepherd By the Sea Episcopal/Lutheran Mission, Gualala, CA

The key to understanding the meaning and message of these past two weeks, Holy Week and the week after Easter, is well summarized in the Book of Common Prayer’s Collect for the 2nd Sunday in Easter: “...Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith…” That meaning and message, perhaps more than at any time in human history, needs to be understood, affirmed and lived. The daily media provide us with unlimited stories of people who say one thing and do another, of unkept promises and assurances, of commitments and covenants routinely and flagrantly ignored or causally set aside.


New Testament scholar and ordained Disciples of Christ minister, Nancy Claire Pittman, points out her fascination this Eastertide with the “theme of trust in the witness of others”, a theme so prominent in John’s Gospel passage (20:19-31) today. She sees in our time, as many others do also, how nearly every institution in American culture seems to be “infected” with deep mistrust, shortsightedness, and just plain ignorance. Much information, many claims to truth, and the actions taken on such, seem to be based, not so much on what is said, or on the factual truth or genuine motivation behind it, but on who says it. Our mistrust, particularly today in civil life and politics, spills over even into our life together as followers of Jesus.


The message of Easter, to which St. Peter, in the second reading (1 Peter 1:3-9), bears eloquent witness is essentially that what you and I see in Jesus, in his life, in his passion and death, and in his Resurrection is precisely what you and I get. “...listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you...this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed...But God raised him up...and of that all of us are witnesses.”


In his Treatise On Christian Liberty, the great Martin Luther observes that “from faith flow forth love and joy in the Lord, and from love a joyful, willing and free mind that serves one’s neighbor willingly and takes no account of gratitude or ingratitude, of praise or blame, of gain or loss. For a man does not serve that he may put men under obligations, he does not distinguish between friends and enemies, nor does he anticipate their thankfulness or unthankfulness; but most freely and most willingly he spends himself and all that he has, whether he waste all on the thankless or whether he gain a reward. For as his Father does, distributing all things to all...richly and freely, causing His sun to rise upon the good and upon the evil, so also the son [or daughter of God] does all things and suffers all things with that freely bestowing joy which is his [or her] delight when through Christ he [or she] sees it in God, the dispenser of such great benefits…”


Today you and I have a special reason to recognize and rejoice in this. In just a few hours, bishops of the Episcopal and Lutheran Churches of the United States and of Canada will gather on either side of the U.S./Canadian border: Episcopal Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts-Schori and ELCC National Bishop Susan Johnson, at St. Paul’s Anglican Church, Fort Erie, Ontario; and ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson and Anglican Church of Canada Archbishop Fred Hiltz, at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, Buffalo, N.Y. Episcopalians and Lutherans will celebrate liturgies marking the 10th anniversary of both our Churches’ full-communion relationship which became a reality when Called to Common Mission took effect in 2001. In that momentous agreement, the members of the Episcopal Church and of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America publicly affirmed their trust in one another, gave public witness to the reality of the “fellowship of Christ’s Body”, and publicly demonstrated their willingness to “show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith.”


Bishop Hanson recently explained that the bishops chose to meet near the border of the U.S. and Canada “to provide a unified witness to the saving grace of our Lord Jesus, to share our commitment for renewal in Christ’s Church and in God’s creation, and to serve our neighbor in need.” Presiding Bishop Katharine commented, “Ten years is only a beginning; we are yet young in this work...God truly knows no bounds…”


The Called to Common Mission agreement wasn’t reached overnight, by any means, nor did everyone, on either side, “buy in” to it, even when full-communion was adopted some 20 years after the initial dialogue. What was new and unique about Called to Common Mission involved a number of things, not least of which was that each recognized one another “as churches in which the Gospel is preached and taught”, and that “Ecumenism is not real if it is not local.” Most importantly, both Churches agreed, in the end, to recognize the validity of each other’s baptisms, ordinations, and the historic episcopate.


It was, as most of you know, no coincidence that also a decade ago, in 2001, a few years after both the Episcopal and Lutheran faith communities in the Gualala area began worshiping together here at Mary Star of the Sea Catholic Church, that a formal relationship and covenant was established under the name, The Common Mission, with the blessings of Episcopal Bishop Jerry Lamb and ELCA Bishop David Mullen, under affiliation with the Episcopal Diocese of Northern California. This, of course, grew into an organized mission, Shepherd by the Sea Episcopal/Lutheran Mission, in November, 2006. Since then, you have all proudly represented the best of mission and ministry within the Episcopal and Lutheran traditions, far better, in my humble opinion, than many larger and much older parishes. You’ve truly modeled for this community a witness of trust, and have shown yourselves to be a true fellowship of Christ’s Risen life, “showing forth in [your] lives what [you] profess in [your] faith”.


You may have noticed that, so far, I’ve not even mentioned “Doubting Thomas”! Many speak of this Sunday after Easter as “Low” Sunday, because the attendance is often lower in comparison, following the solemnity and grandeur of the Easter services. Nancy Pittman, whom I quoted earlier, also opines that another reason for folks taking a bye this Sunday may, in fact, be because they expect that the same old sermon, which they hear year after year, on “poor” doubting Thomas may be preached yet again! To be honest, all of us, preachers and congregation, need to remind ourselves that it isn’t Thomas alone who deserves our clucking over his disbelief without proof. The other Apostles had actually done no better, particularly after a woman, Mary Magdalene, had assured them that she actually saw and spoke with the risen Jesus on Easter morning. It’s just that, because of Thomas‘ absence on the day of Christ’s Resurrection, the other disciples had gotten a week’s jump on Thomas when they saw for themselves that Jesus was still alive and well. Even Mary Magdalene herself wasn’t immune, given that she became all emotional and weeping when she didn’t see Jesus at first. One could say that almost everyone in John’s account was afflicted with some sort of doubt. The story isn’t just about doubting Thomas, but about a whole gang of doubters!


Nancy Pittman observes that “doubt concerning the resurrected Jesus is not really the most pernicious disbelief” in this Gospel story. What she says is even more dangerous is “the lack of faith in one another’s witness...Communal distrust pervades this account like a noxious gas. The disciples don’t believe Mary, and Thomas doesn’t believe the disciples...No wonder that...Jesus stands up on tiptoe to look over the heads of all those disbelieving disciples and straight into our eyes, saying, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’”


That’s the gift of blessedness which you, in this “Common Mission”, are privileged to hold out to this community. None of you has put your hand directly into Christ’s wounds, yet you believe enough to continue gathering faithfully together each Sunday, to break the bread and drink the wine of Christ’s word and sacrament; you continue to pass on, through Baptism of those in your midst, the faith in the risen Jesus of our mothers and fathers; you bring to the sick, the dying, the hungry, the homeless of this community, the Presence of the living Christ.


One of my dearest friends, now deceased, Fr. Brendan, who was a Roman Catholic Trappist, once sent me an article which said this: “The schisms, persecutions, and polemics of our yesterdays today begin to assume a certain unreality...As the Christian world once split on the diphthong, so have Christians killed each other for a definition. That they should quarrel and divide within the great area of mystery created by the Incarnation, which they share and live by, becomes increasingly unacceptable. The most elementary lesson of a faith held in common is to love, and so to understand one another…”


Episcopalians and Lutherans, including all of us here, and those of many other denominations, are continuing to learn and live that lesson of love and understanding which Jesus taught us in his life, in his passion and death, and in his being raised up. We are all, indeed, “called to common mission”.