Tag Archives: Christ

Chapter 14: Night Office on saints’ days

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On Saints’ Days (feasts) and all Church festivals the Night Office should be ccarried out as on Sunday, the exceptions being that the psalms, antiphons and lessons are to be appropriate to these days.

Why remember the saints?

Coming from the reform tradition, i.e. protestant, this chapter may cause some of my brothers and sisters some confusion or a desire to pass over this short chapter as unimportant. Having grown up in the Roman Catholic Church, however, I have had to understand the importance of saints and, although I reject the need to pray to saints in time of need, I do see the benefit of identifying with them in the ‘communion of saints’. Spending a day meditating on the life of Christians who have died in the faith and, sometimes, for the faith is a great practice. It helps to inspire, challenge and encourage us in our own walk of transformation into the likeness of Christ.

On 24th March 1980, Oscar Romero, bishop of El Salvador, was assassinated whilst presiding at the Eucharist in a small chapel. This year I was reminded of his life and witness via ‘Daily Prayer’ of the Northumbria Community which gives a brief biography of particular saints on their feast day. Romero is a particularly significant Christian figure for me. When I was a teenager in the Roman Catholic Church I went through Confirmation, a rite of passage for any Christian who wants to take personal ownership of the faith given to them through Baptism. Now is not the time to explore the development of the rite/sacrament of Confirmation but it just needs to be said that, in my church at the time, it was customary to take the rite of Confirmation when you were 16 years old.

During the Confirmation service in the Roman Catholic Church the candidate chooses a saint’s name to be given. This is an interesting practice and should create an opportunity for the Christian to rename themselves and to have a development in identity as they try to identify with a saint of the Church. Unfortunately for our church, and the poor Archbishop who presided over our Confirmation, as teenagers, we didn’t take this very seriously and our year had chosen the most obscure saints names, not because of the example they set or the affinity we felt with them but merely to try to confuse the Archbishop (I’m sorry to him!) And so, one after the other, the Archbishop renamed teenagers in Tunbridge Wells,

Bonaventure, Sexburga, Zynovij, Bairfhoin…

And after these came me,

Odo.

So technically, I could write that my full name is Edward James Odo Lunn. I don’t!

After my Confirmation, as a group, we started a new youth group for those post-Confirmation. Our parish priest at the time, one Fr. Michael Evans, a godly man to whom I have been inspired throughout my life, named this group the Romero Group. We were introduced to the name and it was met with blank faces from all. Fr. Michael then introduced us to the life and death of Oscar Romero…

If I had known this story before my Confirmation, then I’m sure I’d have had the great privilege of naming my desire to emulate the walk of disciples to Jesus of Oscar Romero. Ever since hearing his story, told so passionately by Fr. Michael on that Sunday evening, Romero has been, in my mind, an exemplar of what being a disciple is like.

So on 24th March this year I dedicated the day to reflecting on Romero’s life and death. I changed my profile picture to a photograph of him and published some quotes and my reflections. You can read some of what Oscar Romero did and said here. The main thing I admire about Romero was the way he both remained steadfast in his faith and theology whilst adapting to the context in which he found himself. He was appointed to the Episcopal See of El Salvador because he was a conservative traditionalist and was deemed a ‘safe pair of hands’ in a time of great uncertainty and uprising in the lower classes. He remained, in my eyes, conservative and traditionalist but, after his Jesuit friend was killed, Romero’s ministry developed and he began standing with the poor and marginalised, to fight injustice. he did not betray his heritage or tradition, nor did he waiver in his theological standpoint but he grew into a deeper understanding of this.

I see the same characteristics in the new Pope Francis. It is the Catholic Church, based in the home of liberation theology, South America, which manages, in my opinion, to balance the love and commitment to Scripture and Tradition, and, at the same time, reveal the open love of God through Jesus Christ. There is no compromising at any point. It is a difficult and rare skill to be able to stand in that point of apparent paradox and contradiction that the power of God’s love is shown. Oscar Romero epitomises this ability to me and reveals Christ and it is this that I seek to grow into, with the help of God. To spend a day praying this prayer for help is a worthwhile and valuable thing to do.

But be warned: it is easy to read into the lives of the departed saints what we want to see. No doubt I have done this with Romero and with countless other saints I admire. It is a natural human instinct to make gods/idols in our own image; we’ve done it with Jesus, we can do it with one of his disciples. Take, St Aelred of Rievaulx, as an example. On his feast day (12th January) there was a flurry of articles and reflections on the question of St. Aelred’s sexuality. His most famous work is ‘Spiritual Friendship’ which is an excellent book on community and relationships. In this book St. Aelred’s relationship with younger monks, depicted in a series of dialogues with them, seems to be very close and intimate. In St. Aelred’s monastery, of which he was the Abbot, he allowed/encouraged monks to hold hands and to meet each other with a holy kiss. All this could be seen as an open acceptance of homosexuality within the monastery. I do not deny that St. Aelred is indeed encouraging close intimacy between brothers (and sisters) and is akin to that of a romantic couple but I refute that this necessarily means that he condoned homesexual practice. I doubt very much if he would remain as an abbot if he had been so ‘progressive’.

I love St. Aelred and his ideas about deep commitment between people of any gender. I encourage that sort of relationship now, same sex or opposite sex, but the complication comes when we discuss the matter of the sexual act and to immediately suggest that one must contain the other is a fallacy.

What upset me on the feast day of St. Aelred was the ease with which people ‘out’ed a dead man. Whether he struggled with his sexuality or not; whether he always wanted to admit to his superiors his same sex attraction or not is not our job to say for him. That action has been dealt with between St. Aelred and his God. However much we feel we are doing St. Aelred a justice in proclaiming his perceived sexuality, it is not our place and nor the reason he should be remembered. St. Aelred, along with all the saints, should be remembered for their proclamation and witness to God. For St. Aelred and Romero this must be only what they said and did not what we hoped they said and did.

Reflection

To connect ourselves with past Christians from a bygone era seems a dangerous thing to do to us in a progressive generation whose obsession with our own ability to ‘improve’. We are in an age where all progress is good progress and we are growing in enlightenment. We are now more informed and more rational than any generation before us and we are building on the past in positive and constructive ways. Unfortunately, the same could be said of the people in Babel. We reached a climax of this thinking during the 20th century when all our intelligence and rationality, all our philosophies and ethics culminated in the possibility of two World Wars and a death toll unimaginable before. Despite this fact, we still consider ourselves as evolving and improving.

For me, remembering saints, reading and learning the tradition holds and protects me from considering that I am in anyway unique or special without a great cloud of witnesses behind me. If I cut myself off from their example and their lives and deaths, I isolate myself. I leave myself open to the temptation and fallacy that I am an island and able to survive without God.  I build a tower of my own to reach the heavens in an attempt to displace God from His throne and take charge of the whole world…

Many have tried. All have failed. Alleluia!

Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Draw me closer to yourself, through the crowd of saints who gather round your throne where they worship and adore  you for your amazing sovereignty, grace and love.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 12: lauds – celebration

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At Sunday Lauds…

Why should we praise Him?

We come now to the Divine Office of Lauds, named after the final three psalms (148, 149 and 150), ‘Laudate’ which means ‘praise’.

Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty firmament!
Praise him for his mighty deeds;
praise him according to his surpassing greatness!
Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe!
Praise him with clanging cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!
Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!

There are times, in the Christian life, when praise is hard; when God seems to be silent to your endless cries for help and mercy. There are those times when we can only place blame on God for a series of events; blame which, even if it’s not considered God’s direct action/intervention that’s caused pain and suffering, is seen rather as His lack of involvement that caused them. At these times we find ourselves asking,

Why should I? Is He even worthy of my praise, adoration and thanksgiving?

In isolated circumstances this response is normal and common but here is where the Benedictine pattern of saying 279 Psalms a week, repeating them again and again, comes in helpful. After months and years of repetition of all the different types of psalms a monk will know the balance of expressions and the revelation of both God and humanity will become clear.

When I was at college, I started, with a colleague, an annual all night vigil reading of a particular book of the Bible. In the last two years of the three years I was there, we used the Book of Psalms (you can read about my reflections at Monasticism and Asceticism (part I & III)). We had decided to do this when, in the first year, Tom Wright, who was, at the time, bishop of Durham, established a full public reading of the whole Bible in Durham Cathedral throughout Lent. A small group of us had signed up to read for two hours. After we had finished our slot we went and discussed how we found it. It was here that myself and TMBI (The Monastic Ball of Intensity) decided we’d like to read the whole of Isaiah through the night.

When one reads the whole of the Book of Psalms, one psalm after the other, you begin to see a broader, more rounded view of what’s going on in these verses. You find yourself feeling and saying things that you consider wrong or distasteful, you express vengeance on others which conflicts with an inner yearning for forgiveness but in the wider collection those feelings are balanced with expressions of who God is and how He works in our lives. Even though you proclaim death on all your enemies, the next moment you’re acknowledging that you deserve to be treated badly for your sin. Despite expressing the perceived absence of God you equally articulate the faithfulness of Him who surprises us with His presence.

Monks who go through this wide spectrum of experience and emotion will quickly learn and digest a more rounded view of reality. It is in the repetition and assimilating of these words that will balance out our instinctive emotional response to situations and remind ourselves of the bigger picture. The cycle of psalm readings here enables us to rise above the dense forest we so often get lost in and see the overview of the landscape to find our way out. With this view, however difficult it is to grasp and believe during dark and lonely times, the praise of God, properly understood and known, will fall from our lips. It is in the discipline of learning and memorising the words of Scripture, which reveal the Word of God, that we will defend ourselves from making Him in our image and allow Him to make us in His image.

Reflection

For most of this week I have been thinking about the trend in ‘emergent’ theological circles to interpret Scripture in ‘new’ ways. This was sparked by Kester Brewin’s re-reading of the parable of the Lost Son. I want to explore my difficulty with Brewin’s approach at a later date but, for now, I want to say something on the danger of reading into Scripture our own presuppositions, biases and agendas. This process is not altogether bad or wrong; indeed it is a natural part of reading any text. We must, however, surround ourselves with the voice of others and the Other who will correct our perspective and subjectivity. We must have an external authority which connects us with reality beyond our own perspective. This is a challenge to the basic understanding of Cartesian philosophy (the thinking of Rene Descartes) which states that the only thing you can know is that you exist because, with Cartesian skepticism, your senses are fallible and therefore you don’t know that anything outside of yourself is possibly false or imagined. I won’t go into that too much out of fear that I will lose many of you who have managed to stick with this so far!

What this type of philosophy has bred is distrust, cynicism and skepticism. Authority is placed firmly on the subject (you). This leads, in my mind, to the break down of community and connectedness. What St. Benedict has taught me as I read his Rule is that despite the fallibility of our senses obedience to an authority in God is a way of protecting ourselves. This protection, certainly in the mind of Peter Rollins et al. is a form of slavery. I would argue that obedience and humility are characteristics of Christ’s walk on earth and so we should follow. Yes, authorities need to be scrutinised and tested but ultimately so must our own perspective, agendas and biases.

My thinking, at the moment, is that the problem of authority arises when there is only one. When there is a sole authority then it becomes a dictator and blinds us all from right thinking. What the Church promotes, and St. Benedict supports, is multiple authorities, to be used to test one against another. In Anglicanism there is Richard Hooker’s three legged stool which suggests that, Scripture, Tradition and Reason are our three means of authority. Scripture reveals God. Tradition helps us to read Scripture and Reason helps us to test Tradition. Scripture balances Reason. (This is my understanding.)

The psalms and the repetition and learning of Scripture gives us a broader perspective and it must be taken in that context. We need to find ways in which we can protect ourselves from individualised, subjective readings of Scripture and reality. In this way I support Descartes philosophy but I would offer the optimistic suggestion that it is in community that we defend ourselves from thoughts and beliefs that lead to darkness, nihilism and despair. Rollins, Brewin and co. are radical theologians but I fear that they throw many babies out with bath water. From my personal experience of their work; the fruit of reading them is a spiritual darkness, isolation, cynicism and hopelessness. Their freedom, is short lived in practice. I know this is not their desired outcome but by reading their work without a degree in Hegelian philosophy, etc. I’m led into confusion and slavery to doubt. This is ironic as they are saying exactly the same thing about the Church which they speak against. It seems they are hoisted, like the rest, by their own language and argument.

I admit I am lost and broken and lacking the intellectual rigour to engage fully in the ‘ground breaking’ thought that they are wrestling with but I am going on a gut instinct and suggesting that I feel uncomfortable, not with what they are saying but where it leaves me. What character does it foster within me? How do I interact with others? Does it, in the end, lead me to worship and praise the God who created all things, sustains all things and leads me to life eternal (both before and after death)?

I fall again onto His grace and mercy and ask that God, whose love endures forever and is never absent from me, despite my experience of his loss, is indeed right beside me inviting me into relationship with Him; to know Him better.

Ever present God, You are life to me. You give me hope. You strengthen me with Your righteous right hand.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 11: how Matins is to be celebrated on Sundays

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The brothers will arise earlier than usual on Sundays.

How do we live in community?

When we thought that St. Benedict had designed the longest prayer service possible, he describes the Matins for Sunday. This service adds nine extra lessons and some more sung responses and ends up being, what must be a feat of stamina but I’m sure, when done well, an impressive vigil of prayer and praise. Again, if it is to be cut short for whatever reason (and there really isn’t any good reason!) then one should cut the lessons and never the psalms. The psalms, as we have seen, are of such high importance to the prayer life of the monastery.

As we make our way through this more prosaic part of the Rule of St. Benedict it is increasingly hard to hear the deeper, spiritual realities at work. It all becomes rather tangible and material; what to do, what to say, rather than the aims and objectives of the Rule of life. We must draw on the previous chapters, I feel, to remind ourselves of what St. Benedict had in mind for the monks.

How do we live in community?

In our church at the moment we are following the Diocese of York’s 5 Marks of Growing Churches. I am due to preach on Sunday on the theme of ‘Partnership’. The passage I will be preaching from is Ephesians 4:1-7 which talks about how to live in communion with others,

I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace…

I’m reminded of the reality of living with others after the honeymoon period has worn off. We hope that our resolve to be loving, and gentle and humble and patient will remain in the years and decades which follow such declarations of love but the truth is it’s hard for us fickle human beings to sustain such emotion. Our love is paltry and transient; only God’s love is eternal. We look at the description of love in 1 Corinthians 13 and try to cut it down to manageable chunks; we say, ‘Well I’ll focus on being patient today and then will fulfil my commitment to love the other person’ as if that was love. Love is patient, kind, not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. If any of that is not present then it is not love. It is all these things or it is not love. We human’s can never sustain it… that’s the point.
I quote Dietrich Bonhoeffer to couples as they prepare for marriage and on their wedding day,

It is not your love that sustains the marriage, but from now on, the marriage that sustains your love. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “A Wedding Sermon from a Prison Cell, May 1943”, ‘Letters and Papers from Prison’ (New York: Touchstone, 1997))

This reality is true in all relationships and communities. St. Benedict, in his Rule established early on the necessary virtues needed to survive real community life, obedience, humility, perseverance… Well, the characteristics described by Paul in his letter to the Ephesians and how do we achieve these high standards?

God.

There is no other way. We can try and strive towards community in our own strength but I have witnessed and experienced this and real community is never achieved because… the human will, despite what popular culture wants to be true, does not endure. Humans are not trustworthy, we never have been! We show signs of pure beauty and potential but these are rarely sustained without a Divine miracle.

The prayers set down here in the Rule of St. Benedict do indeed seem hard and overwhelming but when we acknowledge that they are there to continually remind us of our need for God to transform us and give to us the virtues described above, to conquer our human will to chicken out of change and obedience to the Other, then it begins to be put into perspective. My will is often to take short cuts or to postpone the difficult conversations with God about my character, motives and actions. Enduring prayer without engaging in that will defeat us and we will, after time fall into humbled obedience to the gracious God who is able to redeem our broken lives and re-shape us into the likeness of Christ to send us out into the world to change others and ultimately bring about His Kingdom on earth.

Reflection

There is no escaping the essential part that prayer has in achieving all the spiritual character depicted in Christian literature, from the Apostles to today. This prayer, for St. Benedict, is not a short petition to the Almighty before work or as we fall asleep at night; it is a dedicated, often all conquering spiritual defeat at the hand of the Almighty. I read the demands that the Christian life makes on my life and my first instinct is to give up because it sounds impossible to achieve. Then I remember that it is with God’s help that I stand and walk in His way. It’s not about me achieving it but rather about me giving space and freedom for God to enter into my life and change the furniture. This seems such an easy activity to do and so many of us think that we’re doing it but we hold onto control and resist the complete surrender of our lives because, truth be known, we hate it. It is rare to find someone who has surrendered their life in this way. The people I have met who truly show this life are monastic brothers and sisters. I cannot escape the truth that there’s something in this way of life which gives discipleship a real transformative depth and the gospel becomes real and meaningful.

I can’t help but feel that the Christian Church, on the whole, is far from the life described and demanded in the pages of the New Testament. We have lowered the bar on so many aspects, like we do with our understanding of love in 1 Corinthians 13, that we settle for the easier option. Our expectations of one another and ourselves makes us pale reflections of true Christlikeness. Many people will think that I’m being too harsh on us but surely I am not alone in looking around at the state of the church and the world and see a large disparity to the life of the early disciples and now.

In this time of massive cultural change, where is the moral compass? Where is Godly wisdom found? Where is the Truth of the Divine Creator being spoken? During previous cultural shifts it was in the monastic life that the rhythm of tradition and spiritual heritage was preserved and sustained. Are we investing enough in this way of life? Where is the discipline, obedience to our tradition and heritage within our churches?

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road although I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death, I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.(Thomas Merton, ‘Thoughts in Solitude’ (New York:Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1999))

Come, Lord Jesus

Chapter 10: how the Night Office is to be said in summer

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From Easter to November first the same number of psalms laid down above is to be said.

How do you remember all those lines?

We remain here at the Divine Office of Matins or ‘Vigils’ for another chapter; this one slightly shorter than the other two and, on the face of it, with little to be added to the reflections on this particular activity. There are two things, however, which stand out for me: the memorising of the readings and the real importance of the psalms.

As a theatre practitioner from an early age, learning texts to recite/perform is second nature to me now (a line from My Fair Lady, which goes to show how quickly I can recall scripts!) I have spent the last eight years learning bits of Scripture to ‘present’ in worship services at different times. From Genesis to Acts, Ruth, the Gospels and most recently, Jonah. It doesn’t take me long to get the text in my head (although it is taking longer the busier my mind gets) all I need is a dedicated hour or so for long passages.

I enjoy working through a passage and studying the original meaning and translating it into a modern context. I rarely change words from the translation that is given and when I do it is a deliberate choice made to get a particular point across. I’d rather use the words in the translation and use tone and inflection to communicate meaning and I say that because meaning and interpretation should always be held in a state open to questions but the words, for me, must remain relatively static.

The benefit of learning Scripture is manifold. I want to just speak on two for now.

I’m sure that I am not alone in the experience of listening to the Bible being read in Church services and feeling bored to the point of death. Well meaning and faithful Christians get up to the front with a bible in hand and in a monotone and sombre voice begin to speak the words on the page in the order that they have been written, sometimes noting punctuation but often not. Is it any wonder many people are not inspired to read this book if the people who apparently are meant to receive the revelation of God Almighty through it are so down beat and depressed by it!

I’m always surprised when Christians don’t want to read the Bible but I can understand their view when it is presented in a dry and tedious fashion. Yes it is confusing at some points, yes there are passages which challenge and others which are just a list of names but if your starting impression of this book is that it is complicated, dry and difficult to stay awake to then I wouldn’t pick it up. It’s like me and War and Peace; I know I should read it but the impression I get is it’s just a long book which is difficult to read. That impression is a big stumbling block for me.

I learn the Scripture by heart so that I can tell the story of God and His people in a way that may inspire people to pick up the book and carry on reading. If I am not concerned with making sure the sentences make sense and I say the right thing then I am free to look people in the eyes and tell them this story like I’d tell them any exciting tale from my life or someone else’s.

When I work with people to help and encourage them to develop their reading style I’ll often suggest two exercises: imagine this story happened to you or that what you’re telling people is something you believe in and then go through the text and mark out the kay words or phrases which people should be able to remember after you’ve finished. We forget, in the fear of perceived failure and weight of expectation, that the Bible is life giving. The words reveal the character of God. If we read the Bible and people feel bored and unconnected to what you’re saying then that’s the impression they’ll get of God. For me lifting our eyes and connecting with people, telling this story like we tell other stories such as what we did yesterday or a memorable day from our pasts captures people and they live it again with us.

The second benefit of learning Scripture is more important than the last: so ‘the word of Christ dwell in you richly.’ (Colossians 3:16) I don’t remember all the passages, word for word, that I have memorised but I remember key phrases and the meaning of them. I recall them when I accidentally use similar phrases in life. When I am trying to talk about God I find phrases and passages coming to mind and I am better able to use them in everyday life. Having a general knowledge of different texts also helps when struggling with passages in the Bible; you’re able to better balance and compare ideas and bring the story together. This protects against taking verses out of context or using them falsely.

In this time of Lent it is useful to follow Christ into the desert of temptation and, like Him, use Scripture to defend against the lies and deceits of the Devil who will, as he did in the Garden of Eden take what we think God says and twist it. To be able to quote God and, through wisdom, know it’s meaning is a weapon against the powers of darkness that will seek to confuse us as to who and God is like. The devil tries to soften us to make God in our own image, to become certain that God is what we think He’s like rather than allowing the true God to reveal His perfect character to us.

After I present a passage of Scripture from heart there’s one response that is predictable,

How do you remember all those lines?

It is disheartening. Why? Because it’s the wrong question. It makes me feel like that what I was doing was showing off a party trick rather than being helpful in engaging people with the revelation of God. I consider packing the whole thing in and not bothering because people are so distracted that I can memorise something like a country fair exhibit that they’re no more inspired by the words that I was speaking.

So for all of you who watch any performance where an actor or performer learns lines off by heart here is the answer to that question: They picture the words on the page, or they connect certain words with actions, or they learn the words to a rhythm or tune. We all remember things; pin numbers, song lyrics, sequences of events, names, faces, etc. We do it because we care about them or they are important. Actors learn lines because they’re important. It is a skill which anyone can learn given the time and dedication. It is a discipline and I encourage you all to try to do it with Scripture.

After you see someone do such a ‘feat’ and you feel you want to say something to them afterwards, don’t say ‘How do you learn all those lines?’ Rather talk them about the words they have spoken, the tone of voice they chose, their interpretation and engage them in a conversation about their process. Ask them,

What did you learn from all those lines?

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The Book of Psalms

It is interesting to me that, between ‘Easter and November first’, with the shortened time between midnight and sunrise, St. Benedict chooses to cut the number of readings down to one short passage (memorised) and not cut the number of psalms said. Twelve is a large number of Psalms particularly for slightly longer ones. What is so special about the Psalms?

Abbott Philip Lawrence, OSB notes,

The number 12 is very important in the history of monasticism because a tradition that an angel appeared to Saint Pachomius and revealed to him the importance of praying 12 psalms. (Philip Lawrence, “Chapter 10: The Arrangement of the Night Office in Summer”, Benedictine Abbey of Christ in the Desert, March 11 2014, http://christdesert.org/Detailed/880.html)

Thomas Merton puts the grand-ness of the psalms well when he writes,

To put it very plainly: the Church loves the Psalms because in them she sings of her experience of God, of her union with the Incarnate Word, of her contemplation of God in the Mystery of Christ. (Thomas Merton, ‘Praying the Psalms’ (Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1956) p.9)

The Psalms are not just about what we say and what we get out of them but there’s an element in which our prayers are replaced by the prayers of the Other. For Merton it is the Church and God. Dietrich Bonhoeefer puts it nicely when he says,

The Psalter is the prayer of Christ for his Church in which he stands in for us and prays in our behalf … In the Psalter we learn to pray on the basis of Christ’s own prayer [and] as such is the great school of prayer. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, ‘The Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible’ (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1970))

In some psalms it is easier to see and experience this than others. Walter Brueggemann, another great scholar and theologian whose book on the psalms is well worth reading, says this about those more difficult psalms,

Much Christian piety and spirituality is romantic and unreal in its positiveness. As children of the Enlightenment, we have censored and selected around the voice of darkness and disorientation, seeking to go from strength to strength, from victory to victory. But such a way not only ignores the Psalms; it is a lie in terms of our experience. (Walter Brueggemann, ‘The Message of the Psalms’ (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing, 1984) p.11)

This morning in Northumbria Community’s Morning Prayer we read Psalm 94 which begins,

O Lord, you God of vengeance, you God of vengeance shine forth.

Rise up, O Judge of the earth; give the proud what they deserve.

My father in law once said that all the psalms seem to say,

God is good… now kill all my enemies.

I am regularly needing to edit down Psalm 139, which I use at funerals, because no one, at a time of sorrow and loss, needs to hear,

O that you would  kill the wicked, O God, and that the bloodthirsty would depart from me… I hate them with perfect hatred; I count them my enemies.

How is reading, let alone praying, these psalms allowing Christ to pray through us? How are we being shaped into the likeness of Christ by speaking these desires out? Brueggemann suggests,

By the end of such a Psalm, the cry for vengeance is not resolved. The rage is not removed. But it has been dramatically transformed by the double step of owning and yielding. (Walter Brueggemann, Praying the Psalms (Minnesota: Saint Marys’s Press, 1982) p.68)

Brueggemann also gave a series of talks on the psalms and here is a link to a video which sums up his view, which I think is helpful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDfzzJD8IpI

St. Benedict is clear that the ordained men and women of the Church should be, with Christ, praying on behalf of the Church. It is more important that we are interceding, coming between God and His people and acting as a bridge and a link; not with our own agendas and desires but being cleared to be pure channels of God’s grace into His Church. This is our role, not to grow in our inner life within a holy huddle, cloistered and protected from others but that we do the task of contemplation on behalf of the whole Church. Prayer is a task not a luxury (although we hope that it is both.)

 Reflection

Despite being a small chapter it has thrown up two very practical challenges for me as I start Lent.

1. Why is it that I only learn Scripture when I am presenting it in public? How can I develop a practice of learning Scripture for the benefit of my own spiritual development, for protection against temptation?

2. How can I better develop my reading of the Psalms as the basis of my prayer life for the benefit of Christ’s Church? Where are the Psalms within the life of the parish church? Is there scope within Burning Fences where the psalms could be used in a creative way to express some of our spirituality?

I did start to try and learn the psalms off by heart (following the example of St. Aidan and many other celtic saints) but struggled. I think they need music to help me remember them and pray them as I travel round. I looked for some CDs of complete set of Psalms being sung but I never found anything. If any of you lovely readers fancy getting me a gift then that would be nice!

Christ, you prayed the psalms for Your people and so I join with You. Teach me to pray.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 7: humility

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…Without doubt, we should understand that climbing as showing us that we go up by humbling ourselves and down by praising ourselves.

What is humility?

Here we are. After 6 chapters introducing authority, obedience and living with others, St. Benedict dedicates a whole chapter to humility. Reading this chapter feels like it’s a summary of all that has been said before; he even repeats ideas,

The first step of humility is taken when a man obeys all of God’s commandments (c.f. The Prologue)

The third step of humility is attained when a man, from love of God, obediently submits to a superior in imitation of the Lord (c.f. Chapter 1)

The eighth step of humility is reached when a monk only does that which the common rule of the monastery or the example of his elders demands (c.f. Chapter 1 and Chapter 2)

The ninth step of humility is achieved when a monk, practicing silence, only speaks when asked a question… The tenth step of humility is reached when a man restrains himself from laughter and frivolity (c.f. Chapter 5)

I find myself reflecting on humility each week as I read the Rule of St. Benedict. I discover I am caught between a balking at an emotional/spiritual form of self mutilation and a deep desire to explore unchartered territory of anonymity. When I become aware of my mental gymnastics over this issue I am prompted to remind myself of what ‘humility’ is and is not.

Humility is rooted in the Latin humus, meaning “ground”. I find it helpful (rightly or wrongly) to rename it ‘grounded’. To be humble is not to become a doormat with no desire to establish an identity but rather a true and frank acknowledgement to your standing in the world. Once we begin to understand that to know who you truly are we can move away from our natural desire to reject St. Benedict’s twelve steps to humility. This is not to say that humility should not carry some fear and discomfort for us humans, naturally bent towards pride and selfish individualism of many forms. The process to humility is about stripping off false identities and claiming rightful ones, spiritual ones.

There are thoughts which spring to mind as I talk about natural desires and identity. The first is a thought picked up from Gregory Boyd in his book ‘God of the Possible’. He suggests,

Genes, parenting, and spiritual forces do condition who we are. But for believers whose spirits have been regenerated by the Holy Spirit these conditioning factors cannot determine who we are unless we choose to allow them to do so. (Gregory Boyd, God of the Possible: a biblical introduction to the open view of God (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2000))

Boyd is saying that we are conditioned by biological and experiential factors to do and be certain things but none of these factors should control or oppress us. By the Holy Spirit (and that is the emphasis) we are set free from conditioning factors to be transformed, strengthened to follow the way of Christ. We should no longer claim, ‘I can’t do that. It’s not how I was made.’ God knows of what you are made and that is why He sent His Holy Spirit to help us.

The second thought comes from reading Leonardo and Clodivus Boff’s book ‘Introducing Liberation Theology’. There’s a quote which resonated with the reflections I’ve been having whilst reading this chapter.

The gospel is not aimed chiefly at “modern” men and women with their critical spirit, but first and foremost at “nonpersons,” those whose basic dignity and rights are denied them. (Leonardo Boff and Clodivus Boff, Introducing Liberation Theology (Tunbridge Wells: Burns & Oates, 1987) p.8)

I do not want to belittle or ignore the main aim of the Boffs’ statement, that of the extreme poor in our world, but I was drawn to the term “nonpersons”. This phrase reminds me of John Zizioulas’ work on Christian anthropology particularly an excellent article entitled ‘Human Capacity and Human Incapacity: A Theological Exploration of Personhood’. Zizioulas articulates a distinction between humans and persons; one is a biological phenomenon the other is a metaphysical reality achieved through communion with God. It is through this divine communion, in baptism, Eucharist and the Body of Christ (the Church) that one transforms from ‘human’ to ‘person’.

I want to suggest that the gospel is for “modern” men and women precisely because they too are “nonpersons”, the difference is that they deny personhood themselves rather than having them denied by others. The path St. Benedict sets out in this chapter on humility is a process for all people to develop from human to person through the task of community.

Ultimately, St. Benedict’s process to spiritual growth and deeper communion with God is set out at the beginning of the Rule as he describes the ideal monks, the Cenobites, ‘who live in a monastery waging their war under a rule and an abbot’. To live a life of discipleship in the Kingdom of God one must be obedient to a community and an abbot. Humility will arrive after one has journeyed the difficult and treacherous road through community.

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Humbling Ourselves

I would love to explore each rung of St. Benedict’s ladder to humility but I am both daunted by such a task and ill-equipped. I do want to spend a few moments, however, reflecting on St. Benedict’s analogy.

I was struck by St. Benedict’s use of direction in his depiction of the ladder to humility. He suggests we climb to the ‘highest peak of humility’ which is a journey away from the ground and up to heaven. The model I would tend to consider is the depiction of Christ’s humility in Philippians 2:3-11

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death – even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Christ humbled himself and came down. In the gospels Christ describes humility as putting yourself lower and, in so doing, paradoxically being raised through exaltation by God. Humility, in my mind has always been a descent into that ‘humus’/grounding.

This leads me to another reflection I’ve had about humility; The analogy depicts hard work and intentionality about achieving humility. There are set, pragmatic steps to take to arrive at this state of humility. This unsettles me. I am not suggesting that St. Benedict is wrong or misguided in his teaching but I am rather challenged in my pre-conceived attitude to humility.

My question is, ‘can I humble myself?’ What I mean by this is, is the process of humbling an act we do or an act that is done to us by others and God? The passage from Philippians clearly says Jesus ‘humbled himself’ but is that possible because He is the Son of God or is it an invitation that we should od the same. The difference between humbling yourself and being humbled may seem pedantic and semantic but I think, in relation to St. Benedict’s call to climb the ladder to humility, it is important to ensure where our focus is. Are we to look at humbling ourselves or rather look at living in community and, in doing this discovering we are humbled?

I would want to suggest that humility is achieved by living out the life of obedience in a community, committing to the actions of considering others before yourself, seeking the common good for those to whom you have committed higher than selfish ambition and vain conceit; in short, to love, truly and in imitation of Christ. If you do this then you will find yourself humbled. These steps to humility by St. Benedict are like the Beatitudes in Matthew’s gospel,

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

We read these wrong if we feel we need to mourn, to be meek, to be peacemakers, etc. in order to be blessed. Our focus is wrong if we think that the point of these statements is to show us how to be blessed, as if they are some self-help programme. These are statements of truth not guidance as to how to live your life. These are more about virtues than about practical steps to self improvement. It’s the paradox and challenge of the life of faith in Jesus Christ; you achieve the goal (salvation, arrival into heaven, enlightenment) by not focussing on achieving that goal.
Community is the same,

Christian brotherhood is not an ideal which we must realize; it is a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (London: SCM Press, 1954) p15-16)

Organic community is not a product, not an end result. Organic community – belonging – is a process, a conversation… It is not the product of community that we are looking for. It is the process of belonging that we long for. (Joseph R. Myers, Organic Community: Creating a Place Where People Naturally Connect (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2007) p125)

Reflection

Looking at community within the parish context becomes complicated when you’re aim and focus is building community, as if it were a product or goal to achieve. Community is the process of loving others; the focus is on doing the process rather than achieving the product. It’s like art: an artist may have an idea of what the piece may look like or express but whilst working on it they must cast that dream to one side and engage fully in the task of creating. Then the art is more beautiful and surprising, even to the artist themselves.

What St. Benedict is placing before us is a series of activities to do, not to achieve humility in ourselves but to encourage the growth of community around us and in that rich soil the seed of humility is grown, hidden even from our own eyes until, at the end, when the Reaper comes for the harvest we will find, with Him, that we have born good fruit.

Transformer of humans, Come by Your Holy Spirit and guide me in the way of love and obedience. That, in doing this I will be rightfully humbled even to death and thus be exalted by my Heavenly Father, for His glory and His Kingdom.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 6: silence

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…we always condemn and ban all small talk and jokes.

Why so serious?

It is this chapter which challenges me more personally than any that have gone before. I suspected that ‘obedience’ would be the chapter which cut the deepest but it is here, in the demand of this chapter, that I’m left… silenced. I have been on silent retreat on a number of occasions and always find them very refreshing and beneficial; it’s not the call to silence in this chapter which challenges me rather it’s the call to cut ‘small talk’ and ‘jokes’.

I prefer to be in small groups rather than a room full of people mixing and mingling. I find that shallow introductory conversation when getting to know new people very difficult and scary. I feed off deep and meaningful conversations about the important issues in people’s lives (don’t invite me round for networking events!) Don’t get me wrong, I can do the networking but it drains me of energy very quickly and soon I will be putting my coat on and leaving. When I’m tired, however, and I’m in the company of close friends I settle into ‘banter’, joking comments which stem from a deep knowledge of the people I am around. It is easy to do and, at times, it strengthens and communicates the comfort I feel in the other’s presence but… it also has the potential to damage and hurt.

I have friend who I see less than I like to. We went to college together and, I hope, there’s a respect between us. We both love each other dearly and that is communicated through the jokes we make at the other’s expense. I use the jokes to highlight my knowledge of him and what brings us together. I have made it clear that I enjoy the to and fro of the jibes and we laugh together. The laughter brings us closer, I feel. I was at an event where I had the opportunity to see him again. We hadn’t been together for a long time and it was lovely to see him flourishing. Soon we were sat laughing and joking with each other, ‘ribbing’ each other for the foolish parts of our personalities, etc. It was like we’d never separated. Again, the laughter brought us together but… then the laughter stopped and we parted.

It wasn’t a division as such. There had been no big falling out or argument but when I hadn’t had an opportunity to say goodbye I was left with a feeling of disappointment that I hadn’t chosen my words more carefully and spent the time reconnecting with him on a deeper level. I had decided to spend my time with small talk that, although it didn’t upset him, had not built him up and encouraged him. I’d like to have been able to do that more than share the laughter which didn’t.

Comedy is very weighted towards the negative representation of certain people in order to evoke laughter at them. Comedy has become, or maybe it always was, very aggressive and destructive of others or self. There is an inherency in the bringing out the failings or foolishness of people in comedy, we cannot escape that, but there’s a lot of playing with power that goes into it. When does it go too far? Where is the line? It’s often hard to tell and when you find out you have often just passed it!

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The Laughing Church

This may say more about my personal challenge from this chapter but I don’t want to see a community where laughter is not allowed. I suspect this is not what St. Benedict has in mind and the words ‘small talk’ and ‘jokes’ may hold different meanings. There are times, for example, even for more introverted people like myself, for small talk; those conversations which settle people into relationship. It would be tiring to only have deeply intense discussions. Likewise, there are those times when one must laugh at one’s self and allow others to share in the knowledge of our true nature, ‘fools’. There are too many people who are forced to take themselves too seriously, either by our culture or by themselves.

A Benedictine of Saint Cecillia’s Abbey, Ryde, suggests,

St Benedict never intended to banish joy from the monastery. One reason St Benedict may have prohibited a certain kind of laughter is given in the conference on prayer by John Cassian: “For whatever the soul was thinking about before the time of prayer inevitably occurs to us when we pray as a result of the operation of the memory. Hence we must prepare ourselves before the time of prayer to be the prayerful persons we wish to be. For the mind in prayer is shaped by the state that it was previously in, and when we sink into prayer, the image of the same deeds, words, and thoughts plays itself out before our eyes just as they did before, making us angry or sad or causing us to relive foolish laughter” (Conferences 9:3). Both see that a certain frivolity, the kind of laughter that seeks to make a joke of everything, can undermine the spirit of prayer. Nevertheless laughter and good humour have an important place in our community life. And the ability to laugh at oneself is more akin to humility than opposed to it. (A Benedictine of Saint Cecilia’s Abbey, Ryde, ‘Enlarging the Heart: Daily readings from the Rule of Saint Benedict’, 10th February 2014, http://www.ancilla-domini.org/Benedict.html)

Another friend of mine rightly pointed out that laughter brings people together and the church has a tendency to take itself too seriously and it puts people off. There’s this impression that Christian communities are dower places of sackcloth and ashes; where is the heavenly feast that Jesus inaugurated in the Kingdom of God? I understand the need for wisdom and discernment about the nature and timing of laughter but I think it cannot be cut altogether.

One final story to end on:

At my retreat before I was ordained a priest I went and had some time with a monk. I went to him to seek guidance on some struggles and issues I was having at the time. The emotions and reflections weighed heavy on my mind and heart and I was weeping often and not sleeping well.

I sat down next to him and he gave this big smile to me. He asked me what I wanted to talk about and I began the rant!

I recalled all the painful things people had said to me, the frustrations and disappointments. I told him how unjustly I had been treated and how I was not being listened to or understood. Throughout my long and impassioned speech he continued to smile. Occassionally he nodded and laughed; to be honest it wasn’t the reaction I had expected. Did he not realise the importance and difficulty of the situation? The more I tried to convey how pained I was the more he smiled and laughed. Soon I was laughing with him.

How foolish I was! How seriously I had taken myself! Was it all that bad?

When I had finished he asked me one question,

Have you thought about all that you’ve missed out on whilst worrying about this?

At that moment I realised again what it meant to be free; to live the new life given to us by God’s grace, the life in the light of forgiveness and release from bondages. I looked on this simple monk and he had true joy and there I sat racked with guilt and anger.

Reflection

I wonder what it might look like to have a spiritual discipline of foolishness. What might the practical work of deconstructing the pompous idols of our own pride through deliberate acts of foolishness? I like my friend’s suggestion that there needs to be more laughter in Christian communities, laughter which disarms and neutralises the those dark arts of anger, resentment and pride. What would a community that takes joy seriously, celebrating freedom to see ourselves as fallible fools and its ok?

Christ of the party, Bring to me and the community of which I am a part a right joy and laughter. Challenge our use of words to encourage one another and bring us to that humble acceptance of our own foolishness. Disarm the anger, disappointments, frustrations and help us to silently smile at the futility of worry and striving.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 5: obedience

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The first degree of humility is prompt obedience.

Why should I listen?

There is a myth that ‘millennials’ (my generation who have grown up saddling the millennium) have no respect for authority. In reality I think we do have respect for authority but the authority must be earned before it can be trusted. This does lead to many of us dismissing first instances of authority, particularly if it is enforced with rigor; this is a dangerous tendency. Our primary authority is no longer in older figures, previous generations but rather in peers; this is an even greater danger for what it leads to is a narcissistic, blind belief in our own power, understanding and un-walked wisdom.

Blogger, Anna Mussmann, has written a really interesting critique on culture using the young adult fiction which is popular. The article is called ‘Millenials Think Authority Figures Are Untrustworthy Idiots, And Modern Culture Is To Blame’ and takes stories such as Hunger Games, Finding Nemo and Splendors and Glooms to explore what these books have taught and continue to teach us growing up in this culture. Mussmann argues,

…when young adult fiction encourages reliance on transitory, peer-based relationships, it casts off the unifying role that classic literature once played. Our stories no longer bind multiple generations together. Instead they divide them… we even structure young people’s lives in ways that decrease adult influence and increase peer culture: our children are separated by age at school and attend age-specific youth programs at church (often never participating in traditional services that are designed for all-ages). They listen to their own music and text in their own language. The qualities which unify a culture, such as music, etiquette rules, and stories, are all things of which youth have their own.

This article is fascinating when considering my own attitude to obedience to authority figures of older generations. The issue, in my eyes, is always with them. This is an unhealthy reaction to many older people who have lived and experienced many things. I don’t want to dismiss my generation too quickly though. I do feel there’s always been an earning of trust and some blame must fall onto the previous generation who, after dismissing their parents for the mess of two world wars and the violent climax of enlightenment and modernism, felt they should never impose obedience on their children. In this context is it any wonder that young people today have little to no moral compass to guide them through the chaotic adolescence.

If you are a regular reader of my blog then you will know that over the last two or three years I have been increasingly vocal about ethics and virtues and the nature of moral discussions (read On Secularism, The Hunch, The Compulsion and The Overwhelming Pain, The Pope is Dust Just Like You and There is No Majority). The heady mix of my generation with my parents’ generation when running a society, is a cocktail for increasingly isolated people with highly subjective opinions to right and wrong trying to co-habit a claustrophobic space which leads inevitably to an increase in violence, physical and political. Our politic is broken because we have taken a shared narrative away and allowed a vacuum to be created. We now happily worship the absence in true nihilistic fashion.

Many young adults, especially those from the less affluent backgrounds, feel that they live in a world where family and community have eroded to the point of dysfunction. Personal loyalty may be their only hope in a dark, chaotic, and existential world. This kind of loyalty is the same moral value on which both gangs and tribes are built, and in many ways, our culture encourages a new kind of clique-like tribalism. Paradoxically, however, such loyalty is also constantly mutating, because our peer-oriented relationships (friendships and marriages) are self-chosen and therefore dissolvable. In real life the group loyalties break and reconfigure under strain. Such single-generation tribalism is also incredibly narrow. G. K. Chesterton argues that families are far more broadening than self-chosen companions because they force individuals to learn to understand many kinds of people. (Anna Mussmann, ‘Millenials Think Authority Figures Are Untrustworthy Idiots, And Modern Culture Is To Blame’, The Federalist, February 4th 2014, http://thefederalist.com/2014/01/23/millennials-think-authority-figures-are-untrustworthy-idiots-and-modern-culture-is-to-blame/)

Through this millennial lens I read St. Benedict’s words on obedience. I have explored in the previous weeks the role and nature of the abbot and have wrestled personally with my own attitude to the leader figure. I would argue that it is right, at this time, to reshape our understanding of leadership to fit the culture. In order to do that a leader must become an advocate to the people under his/her authority and we should embrace a more flat leadership model, organic in nature. This does not mean that the leader must become a friend, homogenous to the group, for that complicates the role of wisdom and obedience needed in order for personal and communal growth to occur. Authority is needed and it must remain external to the self. Tribalism is not a healthy way to exist but there are elements of it that should be encouraged; togetherness, sociality, loyalty but in Narnia this balance between friendship and authority is beautifully portrayed in the character of Aslan who remains aloof and separate from the children who must negotiate the strange and dangerous world of Narnia. I return again to the model of the ensemble theatre company; there is a sharing of leadership and direction but the role of the director becomes one of facilitator and ‘story-keeper’. This role ensures that authority is named and placed in a specific place. The challenge comes when the person who takes on that role mis-uses it. This is why the selection of such a person must come from the group and is placed on them through a sense of vocation and discerned calling.

Aslan’s style is to be alongside, encouraging but at times to demand the respect and authority to, enigmatically at times, to guide the children into strange and unknown experiences. The children do not understand why at the time but they are encouraged to trust the authority of figure to do it anyway. My generation would instinctively baulk at such suggestion,

Why should we?

Who does he think he is?

He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what’s good for me.

When I think of my personal authority figures, the ones who know me and guide me and whom I respect and obey, most of them are of a previous generation. They have earned my trust but remain separate enough from me to be able to command me and my will.

The church, I feel, must reflect on this cultural issue seriously when we discuss the nature of leadership and authority. There needs to be an overhaul of our images and models of leadership and I am increasingly convinced that we must return to a ‘priestly’ model where reconciliation and spiritual depth are primary roles. Obedience is demanded like Jesus demanded it; not by His words first but by His character. He was obviously a man who commanded attention but where it came from, no one could tell. Jesus, of course, is unique but as priest’s we are called to be His ambassadors in His Body, the Church. We are called to stand in His place between people and places, heaven and earth. We are to follow Him closely to encourage the people of God to do likewise. We must commit our lives to being lead by our Master in obedience and to speak the commands we follow to those whom God calls us to.
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Sacrificial Obedience

Not satisfied with calling the monks to obedience, St. Benedict takes it one step further and asks them to do so ‘without fear, laziness, hesitance or protest.’

Orders should be carried out cheerfully…God will not be pleased by the monk who obeys grudgingly, not only murmuring in words but even in his heart.

I am guilty of saying that I am happy to obey authority but doing so questioningly and with reservation. I act, in line with commands, suspiciously or creatively twisting the will of my superior to fit my own desires and will. St. Benedict is clear that true spiritual growth will occur when ‘These disciples must obediently step lively to the commanding voice – giving up their possessions, and their own will.’

I’m not sure if what I am about to suggest is skewed by my generational attitude to authority but I wonder if there’s an understanding here that the abbott himself is under the authority of the Rule and, prior to being called to the role of abbott has shown himself obedient to it. Thus his authority has been proved through his own discipleship. I wonder if his own discipleship and obedience must remain the hallmark of his leadership. The abbott must, in this understanding, follow and imitate Jesus, his Master, who followed and imitated His Father.

Reflection

This week’s chapter has cut to the heart of some personal issues for me and I am convicted to pray through my attitude. There is a sense in which it is a nudging back in line with God’s will and not a whole hearted overhaul. In parish ministry at this time there is a large confusion about right and healthy distinctions between ordained ministers and laity. In the past there has been some devastating situations caused by those in authority in the church and this has destroyed much of the Church’s authority. To destroy the whole thing and dismiss the tradition is too risky and dangerous and is akin to throwing ‘the baby out with the bath water’. There is such a call to wisdom but, unfortunately, my generation in this culutre will struggle to find wisdom for we no longer ascribe to a shared cultural narrative and to any virtues of character. The characters we share are story-less, peer-guided and self selected. With no wisdom this self-selection is vacuuous and vapour and we will lead ourselves ever darker into the abyss of nihilistic existence.

Lord have mercy upon us all.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Fleeing to No-Man’s Land

bf_logo_brownI have had the privilege of being welcomed into a community over the last year which has had an ongoing and deeply transformative impact on me and my vocation as an ordained priest. The community are mainly in their twenties and would, at a cursory glance, be classified as ‘arty’ intellectual types, although this is not entirely true; not that they are not either of those things but that which unites this group isn’t those two general categories. It is only in the last month or so that I have begun to grasp the ‘charism’, the ‘je ne sais qua’, of Burning Fences.

I have come to realise that this gathering on a Wednesday night is a place between. What I mean by that is, it is a space which exists in no-man’s land between many human cultures, traditions, institutions and philosophies. Many are ‘de-churched’, meaning they have opted out of the church system. This does not automatically mean they have no faith in Jesus, but they are definite in their questions of institutional religion. Others are ‘de-society-ed’, meaning they have opted out of social institutions including politics, economic models and/or cultural pressures.

Whilst some are exiting church due to lack of a tangible truth to the statements trotted off each week, others are dismissive of social powers for the same reason. Capitalism: failed. Democracy: broken. Hierarchy: oppressive. Education system: stifling. In our community these things, at best, do nothing for us, at worst are an abuse. Church has hurt many of us and society has not done much better. We are all ‘de-something’, ‘post-something else’ and ‘anti-the other’ but…

We find joy.

a3257979419_10Before I stumbled through the doors one cold December night, this community had been meeting, singing and telling stories for a year or more. They had produced a CD of songs which they had developed entitled ‘Of Anthem and Ashes’. The images that were resonating with them then and remain reverberating through our times together are phoenix like resurrections; songs sung in the rubble, new plants breaking through concrete. These images have always resonated with me and it’s why I know I am a ‘fence burner’.

What’s unique, in my experience, with Burning Fences is we are not just angry rebels without a cause. I felt, at first, our position was always, first and foremost, against but now I appreciate that our primary position is for; it’s for joy, hope, faith, creative and transformative actions of love. We are for justice. We are for freedom. We are for foolishness. We stand up for singing and fairytales and we stand proclaiming the truth that we find in them; a truth higher than the ones incarcerated in creedal dogmas and policies from committees.

What unites us is not the borders we’ve crossed to get to Burning Fences, its the central tenants which have drawn us closer. It is not that we are all ‘de-churched’ or ‘post-capitalism’ or ‘anti-establishment’ it’s that we are dreamers singing songs from ages past with the fresh melody of our eternal youth.

We struggle to define ourselves, not because we cannot tell you what we do or why we do it (although we may amble around some wording) it’s because we don’t believe in definitions. Definitions limit and control; they create an object that is to be studied and understood. We, I think, want to rather express. Expressions manifest and present; they allow the subject to be encountered, however fleetingly. Groups and communities always get to a point where they organize. It’s at this point where a small death occurs. That which was new, organic, growing, evolving becomes marked and measured. It’s a necessary part of all groups some would say, but, I wonder, is it as necessary as we think?

Organization contains mechanistic tendencies, structures which are intentionally built to ensure all parties are protected and held. Organization does an important job of mediating between subjectivity of members and individuals can devolve responsibilities to the processes and structures put in place. The alternative, I want to tentatively suggest, is the organism.

Organisms are natural and, in some respects, self-evolving and responsive to environment. Organisms exist in constant fragility and transient ways and yet can endure much. The church has traditionally been associated with organic images; a body, a family, a vine, a tree. Ferdinand Tönnies articulates a possible contrast between these two models which he describes as ‘organic communities’ and ‘associative societies’,

…one can distinguish between ideal types of organic and associative social structures. A person is born into an organic social structure, or grows into it; by contrast, a person freely joins an associative social structure. The former is a ‘living organism’ whose parts depend on the whole organism and are determined by it; the latter is ‘a mechanical aggregate and artifact’ composed of individual parts. The former is thus enduring, the latter transient. In short, organic social structures are communities of being, while associative social structures are alliances for a specific purpose. (Miroslav Volf, ‘After Our Likeness: The Church as the Image of the Trinity’ (Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1998) p. 179)

concrete2The times when Church is most frustrating, for me, is in the ‘necessary organization’. What  irks me is the lack of convincing Biblical precedent. The Temple system failed and yet here we are in the 21st century rebuilding it. I get it, organic is messy and uncontrollable, unpredictable but it’s how the world functions. We human beings are devastating when we control and tinker with the organic creation. We’ve tried to organize the world and what we discover is we’re trapped in boxes which do not fit nor encourage us to flourish in the ways in which we should.

Take growth as one example:

Organizations grow but only when there is intentional distribution of resources in that area. Resources are limited and so constant supervision and analysis is required in order to maintain a healthy growth and balance with the repercussions growth brings (increase need for supporting the numbers and the work.) Growth is a task which is done. The temptation is also to continue to grow; to grow beyond the organisation’s means. When is the right time to stop growing? There is no reason to stop.

Organisms grow naturally; plants, animals, people. We do not need constant monitoring and an understanding of how it works we just do it. Yes, in order to remain alive we need protection from certain things but that’s not changing growth that just ensure an environment within which to grow. The purpose and identity of organisms can change and adapt, it’s inherent within the classification. It will be what it will be. Growth is not an intentional task its a natural process. Once it has reached a maturity the growth will inevitably slow down and settle into an identity (which still has freedom to develop) but even mature organisms continue to grow cells and reproduce.

Death is indeed part of the natural cycle of things but, like organisms there’s a continuity of energy from one thing to another and there is reproduction to ensure species continues. With the Christian tradition and narrative death is not to be feared. Despite us all passing through death, at the end we will all rise and live in resurrection glory (but that’s for another time.)plant-growing-through-crack-in-concrete

Burning Fences is an organism. It is one that understands itself as an evolving entity but not vacuuous of identity. Growth is occurring in different ways without us spending resources and monitoring to ensure that it continues because growth is a by-product of being. We have flirted over the last few months with basic organization but I am increasingly convinced that what this ‘Fresh Expression’ is doing, along with many others, is challenging the organizational model of church and society and telling the story of the church as organic. We are not the concrete instituition holding Man together and discovering we’re suffocating him instead. We are the plant life that persists in growing between the rubble of those falling idols.

As an ordained priest I do not want to be a manager. I do not want to be a systems analyst. I want to be one part of a network, a rhizome, of organic life that is fertile, naturally beautiful and expressing newness in the face of decay. I want to welcome the tired, weary, breathless, thirsty people as they run from the crumbling world into no-man’s land and host the party of endurance beyond death and decay. To feed them with nourishing bread and breathe new life into them. I want to tell the story of the world through the lens of a Creator who redeems and endures; coming and leading a people into the wilderness to find miraculous bread falling from the sky.

Burn those fences. Break down the walls and flock to the well where the water never dries up and to a table where the bread falls from heaven.

Chapter 4: the instruments of good works

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…If we always remember and use them, and give them up only on Judgement Day, the Lord shall reward us as he promised…

How do we live this?

How we could meditate and reflect on each of the 72 ‘instruments’ independently and bear much fruit from doing so. Many more experienced and suitable scholars and practitioners have divided this lists of thoughts up into manageable chunks and I commend them to you (search for them online). I, however, want to continue my more general reflections on reading the chapters of the Rule of St. Benedict and this week I will try and voice my overview of this chapter. I must remind you, the reader, and myself of my task in doing these reflections: I am wanting to discern how monasticism may factor into parish ministry and what that approach to the life of faith, lived out by monks/nuns, has to say to those outside traditional monastic communities.

With that in mind my first thought about this chapter is how overwhelming each short ‘command’ is. Few of them don’t leave a mark of some description on my conscience and all of them challenge the state of my inner life. To hold them all and to ‘always remember and use them’ is an added challenge and I could easily stop reading the Rule of St. Benedict until that is obeyed but I continue to feel as I pray through this reading that there is an understanding of grace that is rarely mentioned but is necessary if this life is to be lived.

We have explored before the basic premise that we begin the spiritual life, humbled by God, our ultimate Master and Judge. That we throw ourselves on His mercy and from there be thankful for the work He does in our lives. Through this lens, reading these 72 commandments is like the Sermon on the Mount in that you are forced to ask,

How can we be saved?

Surely all of these are impossible to sustain and achieve.

The reply to that feeling is it does indeed seem impossible to achieve all of this on our own, for your own benefit. This sense of futility is another invitation to enter into humility and stand in the strength of God’s mercy and grace alone. Let’s be honest we all need a daily dose of grounding in the true state of our humanness.

I was reminded this week of our tendency to err on the side of one of two extremes when it comes to self-analysis: either we see ourselves as complete failures, deserving of nothing but the destruction that comes from our own mistakes and characters, or we deserve all privileges and ‘blessings’ for we are wonderfully and fearfully made. Neither of these are quite correct on their own. We should be mindful of both our inherent ability to self-destruct and to hurt others in the process whilst holding onto the truth of the gospel; God is merciful and just and His steadfast love endures forever.

It may be my Roman Catholic upbringing but I have preference to speak of my sin, my dirty junk that I carry in my life. I seek out punishment for the blatant and harmful mistakes I make. I call others to balance the current popular notion that human beings are essentially good and we are the solutions to our own problems. Despite my counter-cultural proclamations against humanist philosophy I cling to grace.

Bono was quoted as saying,

You see, at the center of all religions is the idea of Karma. You know, what you put out comes back to you: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, or in physics—in physical laws—every action is met by an equal or an opposite one. It’s clear to me that Karma is at the very heart of the universe. I’m absolutely sure of it. And yet, along comes this idea called Grace to upend all that “as you reap, so you will sow” stuff. Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff…I’d be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I’d be in deep s—. It doesn’t excuse my mistakes, but I’m holding out for Grace. I’m holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don’t have to depend on my own religiosity. (Bono, excerpt from, ‘Bono: in conversation with Michka Assayas’, Christianity Today, January 28th 2014, http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2005/augustweb-only/bono-0805.html?paging=off)

If I am to read, and even begin to attempt to live out, all 72 instruments of good works then I’m going to have to know grace and to trust it.

For all of my readers who err on the side of seeing themselves as ‘junk’: judgement is not from you but God, the merciful Judge, and if you call on the name of Jesus, that Judge will look on Him instead of you. You will be judged with Christ.

For all my readers who err on the humanist side seeing themselves as their own solution and to continue to try and live the perfect life all by yourself: you will be judged in that way. If you live by karma you will be allowed to be judged by karma… I wish you well.

If a community is going to embrace the message of the gospel of Christ then each member should follow Christ’s example and obey His commands fully trusting and knowing that discipleship is done in the strength of grace and mercy and nothing else. Without a message of grace then all ‘good work’ is rendered moot.
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The Seclusion of the Monastery

Aside from reflecting on the necessity of grace whilst living the life of faith and growing in the spiritual discipline of conquering our own thoughts; I was struck by the final sentence of the chapter,

But the workshop in which we must diligently perform all these things is the seclusion of the monastery and our stability in the community.

For those of us not based within a secluded monastery, living and breathing a monastic life, this final sentence leads us to feel even more stranded. It is true that in order to diligently perform all these things you need to give yourself time and space. Everday life does not lend itself to spiritual discipline. Why not? From my experience there’s no ‘let up’.

When we begin any new hobby or craft or practice, we need the space and time to allow the inevitable failures to happen. One does not pick up a violin and become Niccolo Paganini, it takes work and failures to develop sustainable skill and aptitude. In the busyness of everyday and in our culture so afraid of failure we are called to be in control of our development. There’s no forgiveness for not attaining maturity overnight; one is either mature or not, there seems to be no process encouraged.

A true community is like a loving family; each member is allowed to grow and develop over time. Forgiveness should offered continually and inter-generational leading is encouraged. Those that have been through the early stages of frustration and mistakes must encourage and support the novices. True community, based on the humility being encouraged through the Rule of St. Benedict and the grace at the heart of Christian faith, is a place where failures are not only expected but encouraged for,

Failure… leads to quite artistic things, because if you are not afraid of failure you can try, you can experiment, you can search for new ways, whereas when you are afraid of failure you wouldn’t do it, you would do it the way you did it yesterday… (Lev Dodin in conversation with Robin Thornber at the Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester, 23rd April 1994, Michael Stronin (tr.), cited in Maria Delgado and Paul Heritage (eds.), ‘In Contact With The Gods?: Directors Talk Theatre’ (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996) p74)

Where is such space in parish ministry? How do we encourage this approach to life together? My BA dissertation* explored this idea in great detail (now is not the time to outline my proposal. If you would like to know more contact me and let’s chat!)

Reflection

As we grow into a deeper spiritual life we must hold onto one thing, grace, and seek out another, community. With these two things we can begin to live out the Kingdom of God to which we have all been called.

I suspect most of us shy away from a deep acceptance of grace and resist a deep experience of community. I wonder what a focus on these two concepts and experiences would do to a parish church? I wonder what transformation or revelations would occur if a parish church scrapped all other activity and committed to a life governed by these two principles?

Most Merciful Judge, thank You for Your grace. Thank You that I am judged not on the law of karma but the law of grace. lead me to experience community which holds me, as I am to grow into Your likeness and to only cease in that search on Judgement Day, when You will look on Christ and pardon me.

Come, Lord Jesus.

*The title was, ‘The Divine Collective: how modern ensemble theatre practice can help establish creative Christian communities.’

Lovers of Chains

They sat with their arms above their heads, the blood having drained from them weeks ago. Conversation had dried and their eyes hadn’t felt tears for months. Every crack of light was now a disruption of the darkness and no longer the desired contact with a world beyond the four walls. Every noise was an imposition on the silence, a silence filled with their comforting lists of hopes lost.

They had resisted arrest; they had fought against captivity but there was a moment when they weakened but they no longer remember the details. The barriers of self-preservation had crumbled once one brick of integrity had shifted. How quickly they had settled into routine! How easily they had embraced the chains that bound them!
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Whilst the shackles found the grooves in their skin to make their home, the two men impotently discussed release, escape and freedom. This conversation became as mundane as asking about the weather and the reality of it became a dream, became a fantasy, became rhetoric empty of power. They no longer imagined life outside although they spoke of nothing else.

Days became weeks became months became years and the chains began to keep their wrists warm. The gloom was their natural habitat and their eyes were native to the dimness and still the poetic proclamation of liberty echoed in the emptiness of the cold, hard walls of their imprisonment. Cycles of conversation and expressions settled into a rhythm of seasons and they no longer measured Time outside of these recitals of exchanges of dreams.

sep8Where he came from, neither of them knew. How he got past their captors; who could say? He was either a fraud, one of the warders provoking them for his own amusement; or their captors had fled leaving the cell unguarded; or it was a miracle. None of this mattered much as he walked over to them and spoke.

“Do you want to be free?”

His voice was soft. It was not a weak whisper but a powerful authoritative bass that seemed to hold all other voices in tune. It had no need to clammer to be heard or strain to carry any strength.

The simple answer became lodged in the prisoners’ throats, desperate to be released into reality. It remained, snared in its place as the silence enveloped and overpowered them. As muteness overwhelmed them, doubt took its grip and finally fear pinned them: What if it was a trick? How was this even possible? Where had he come from? Where would he take them?

“Do you want to be free?”

“How did you get here?” they stuttered.

“You have nothing to fear. I have been sent to set you free.”

By whom? For what? Why now and not before? Before they accepted any offer of liberty they wanted to know that where they were being led to would be better than this oppression. This stranger needed to earn their trust.

The two captives waited for him to make a move but he just stood there. There was no apparent rush, no captors running in to stop their release… where were their guards? Had they been overthrown? Had they fled? Or were they waiting outside? Their thoughts and questions were beholden on the condition of their captors but through all of the uncertainty bombarding their minds the stranger remained steadfast before them. His face showed no impatience. He waited for an answer. After a time he sat down.

“They can no longer keep you,” he said, as if reading their thoughts. “Do you want to be free?”

“Yes.”

The word hit the walls of their enclosure and echoed on the stone cavity despite being released weakly from the cages of their mouths.

They had spoken of freedom so often but now it seemed so real. The visitor stood and walked towards the first prisoner and pulled at his shackles. To their amazement they slipped easily off their wrists. The newly released man gasped, in part in relief but more so at the ease at which his chains fell. How had that not been possible before? He had tried, in the early days, almost every night to squeeze his hands through but they were tight around his skin. In the hands of their liberator, however, they crumbled like sand.

Once he had been freed the other came just as easily and in no time they both were standing in the darkened room, free of their chains.

“That was the easy part,” the man said with a smile, “Shall we?” he gestured to the door.

Through the door a soft light spilt into the room. It was not bright and the prisoners thought it must be a corridor with little to no natural light or it was night time. Then they were struck by the realisation that they no longer had any concept of Time; they were so programmed by their oppressors, that life, independent from them and the rhythm and restrictions governed by them, was alien to the prisoners; out of tune. How were they to function now? They no longer remembered reality as free-men.

“Follow me.”

The enigmatic emancipator began to leave. As he passed the threshold he turned and held out his hand. His wrists were scarred, marked with the shape of fetters long since freed from.

“You can hold onto me. You must be weak on your legs.”

It was true, they were out of practice and they stumbled towards the door and the gentle man who stood in its frame.
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File0042594Through the doors they saw their guards sleeping soundly. It seemed so strange – no – illogical that they could slumber during a rescue mission in the jail they were meant to watch. The whole incident was feeling so mysterious and implausible; a dream with no reason. Yet this man kept leading them down the corridor towards a bright light; the final exit to freedom.

As they finally reached the escape to liberation they turned back for one final sight of their home for the last years. They felt a fondness towards that place; the predictability, the certainty and steadiness of their life in the embrace of the enclosure. The two men had built a life together.

In the walk between their cave and the infinite unknowns that lay outside they began to consider the life they were about to embark on; a life they had talked and dreamt of for so long but never contemplated possible. It felt so scary and paralyzing now. Whilst salvation was a fantasy within their heads, it was guarded, protected, boxed in and manageable; in the stark reality it was vast, un-wielding and oh so debilitating.

As they looked back the guards began to wake and stand. They started to walk towards their prisoners. They seemed afraid, wary and disarmed. Their eyes were fixed on the third man who stood between oppressor and oppressed.

“Go. You don’t need to fear. Go,” he said but they could not.

They remained fixed to the spot staring at their masters as they came closer.

What happened next remains the most shocking and mysterious part of the whole story. One which I will never be able to explain.

My friend, companion and fellow slave turned and smiled. He said nothing but it was like he was pleading with me to stay. I stared back, unsure and helpless. His head dropped and he walked back to our cell. The guards embraced him and sent him on his way into the comforting darkness at the end of the corridor.

I called to him but he never heard me or he chose not to respond. My liberator faced me, looked me in the eye and said,

“I have come to set you free. Choose freedom.”

With that he followed after my friend. The jailers allowed him to pass but did not touch him. They showed no power over him and were clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Before the door was closed, the stranger turned and said words that echo in my head even today,

“Some people love their chains too much to be free. Others choose the chains of freedom and overpower all oppression.”