A Red State Mystic.

WE HAVE COME the Season of Advent. The great themes are all here: the incarnation, darkness and light, the second coming, and judgment among other things. The Collect for the First Sunday of Advent points to these themes:

"Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, now and for ever. Amen."

Those who celebrate Advent only casually may be surprised to see that the Second Coming of Our Lord is mingled with his First Advent in this prayer. This intermixing happens all throughout Advent: many of the readings are darkly lit from the minor prophets. The Gospels at Mass focus on Christ's end-time predictions. In this cold December it is quite a fearful thing to see the sweetness of a baby juxtaposed against the awe and majesty of the Christ splitting the firmament. Advent has both and wonderfully so.

CHARLES WESLEY WROTE in that great hymn of this season:

"Every eye shall now behold him,
robed in dreadful majesty;
those who set at nought and sold him,
pierced, and nailed him to the tree,
deeply wailing, shall the true Messiah see."

Robed in dreadful majesty is a wonderful line for all of us who are tempted to think that Jesus is only light, love, happiness, periwinkles and teddy bears. The proper celebration of Advent stands diametrically opposed to this kind of pandering to our sentimentality. As you well know: yes, we wait for him (as a baby) by the creche with the empty manger. But, we also must remember to watch the Eastern sky; waiting for his dreadful majesty to be revealed.

WHAT I AM trying to say is that it is a shame to have one without the other. Deceitful above all things, the human heart prefers one and ignores the other. To only have the Christ child is to know only the sweet aspects of God (as we have come to define it). I think we are most tempted to do this at Christmas time, when presents are given, we pray for peace on earth, goodwill towards men and lovely carols are sung by beautiful choirs. In our cursory celebration of Advent, we've sanitized Christmas. Perhaps, we think that this Christ child is nothing more than our nephew, who generally brings delight to all, but never needs changing or throws a fit. What terrible blasphemy. To understand Christ, the Christ child needs the Second Coming.

IT IS A shame to have one without the other! We, too, know (perhaps first hand) those who follow only the Second Coming Christ. Their focus is solely on the future and on the major (and obscure) prophetic scriptures. These are the avid readers of the Left Behind novels and followers of various other prophetic ministries. They are constantly divining the signs in the sky, deeply believing that the the course of world events is spiraling wildly out of control that the Second Coming has to be here soon. The only problem is that this tempts us to shape our faith away from our day-to-day lives, to focus on the outward signs than on the heart (where the problem really lies). In other words, they lose the tree of the heart in the forest of the world's ills. What terrible blasphemy. To understand Christ, the Second Coming needs a First.

WE NEED both Christ-the-baby and Christ-the-returning-conqueror. Perhaps, if we need both, then they need be (at least to us) one in the same. Imagine how it would change our perspective if when we saw the great judgment seat of Christ, we see not an angry man seated there, but a laughing child? When the roll is called up wonder and the eastern sky is split in twine, we see not the ripped pectorals of an angry man, but a child gently bouncing on his Mother's legs? This is all speculation, of course.

HOW WOULD IT change us to think of this Child as taking on the signs of the Second Coming? What if it is that Baby in our arms who came not to bring peace, but the sword? This sword in the child's hands cutting straight through to our hearts. What if the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes was actually mounting the white horse to subdue all the peoples of the earth? That this child of light and grace and peace brings also with him death and destruction? Would this change how we address this little baby boy?

I THINK THAT is exactly what TS Eliot was getting at in his poem, "The Journey of the Magi" which was written shortly after his conversion. He gives voice to those three Kings who return home wondering at what they found:

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we lead all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

This is what the proper celebration of Advent (including both Advents) looks like:birth and death. That birth so marvelous that the heavens had to drop down as the earth brings forth a savior. Just as miraculous, a new birth inside the soul where the heart begins to see God in Reality by trusting in him. A marvelous miracle, these births also bring forth death [sic]: to the old ways of thinking, to our old clutched gods and to the old dispensations. The sword of this Child's innocence cuts our hearts open before him, causing death to those things which do not please him and birthing those things that do. During this Advent season, he brings to us both birth and death.

THEREFORE, STAND FIRM in your faith with one eye on the empty crib and one on the empty, Eastern sky. Even here while standing by the manger, he is robed in dreadful majesty, greeted by the deep wails of our hearts. For behold, this Christ child comes like a thief in the night to steal all that we know, all that we cherish and all that we hold dear. And it is marvelous in our sight. Even so, Lord, Come!

I HAVE HAD the supreme privilege to be present when miracles happen. No, I'm not talking about the impressive Benny-Hinn-esque miracles, but I'm talking about the miracles of an everyday nature. These miracles are so obscure, so small that if you turned your head a quarter-turn to the left you'd miss it. If you squinted your eyes and bunched up your nose, you wouldn't see anything but everyday, ordinary things. If you were not in the proper disposition, you'd not think twice as you went to the next activity. I have been present for the miracles of the heart.

MIND YOU, ITS nothing I've done. These things, they just happen. I believe that they happen so often it is why we don't even recognize their worth. But they happen, these miracles of the heart. Like when the soul decides to turn from self towards the purifying light of the Divine. Or when the wool is suddenly pulled from the eyes and the world as it really is is seen. When the soul comes in contact with Reality. When a flower begins to bloom so slowly (ever so slowly) from the rocks and the weeds into which a seed was once planted. And it is so commonly beautiful that it can so easily be missed.

I THINK THAT is because while these miracles of the heart are going on, the rest of the self is immersed in confusion (at least in my experience). There is a struggle, there is pain and there is great striving while the soul simple opens in the hand of her Lord. There is a delicate peace underneath all that storming going on in the intellect. But, in those rare moments when I have the privilege to see these miracles of the heart, I can see it happening there underneath the questions and the pondering and yes, even sometimes, the tears.

YESTERDAY IN THE Daily Office, there was this lovely little verse from 1 Peter concerning salvation, "Even the Angels long to look into these things (1:12)." Preceding, are a few verses about how those in the Old Covenant "searched intently and with the greatest care" for when Messiah was to be revealed. The fulfillment of the Prophets is found in the preaching of the gospel. And the fulfillment of both is in the salvation of your soul. Even the angels long to look at your salvation, just like the Prophets and the Preachers.

SO, HERE THEY are, all craning they necks to catch a glimpse of the salvation of the soul: the angels, the Saints, the prophets, the preachers, indeed the entire company of heaven and earth. All groping with intent and moving with greatest care how the Spirit of God will move in the next soul. How will this seed that was once planted grow? I'm reminded how I often imagine that I'm looking in a cave in the center of the soul for the child Jesus. So, too, they crowd around us, those prophets and angels and preachers (some in the back standing on their tippy-toes, some pushing gently to move forward) to see these miracles of the heart. Of course, only God can see the soul, but they can see the Divine Moving on our faces.

FOR THIS IS where salvation is wrought or where hell is sought after, this is the battleground of the soul. Would we recognize the Divine Moving in the soul of our Brother? I pray that would all search intently and with the greatest care on even that which the angels long to look, these small miracles of the heart.

(Image is from here. This is not the Youth Room at St. John's -- it is the Youth Room of my dreams!)

ON SATURDAY, WE had a "Touch of Silence", which is really a Parish Quiet (Half) Day. It was facilitated by the Centering Prayer group at St. John's that usually meets on Tuesday nights. We began the morning with a Mass and then had two twenty-minute sits for Centering Prayer. We met in the Youth Room, because it has the most comfortable seating in the entire building. There is nothing worse than doing Centering Prayer on uncomfortable chairs. Worst. Thing. Ever. Anyway, you might picture our Youth Room as cinder blocks, lumpy futons and brightly painted pictures of Jesus, but you must remember, dah-ling, we're Episcopalians. It is probably the most tasteful Youth Room in the Tri-State Area. Perhaps I'll post a picture. The Youth Room has what I think used to be the Children's Altar for Sunday School and such. It's of fair size and dark stained wood, even with its own gradine.

I HAD THE PLEASURE of serving at that Mass. The most wonderful thing happened, as the mass was celebrated there on that Altar ad orientem. This is the first time I've ever served where we were all facing the same, easterly direction. I must admit, I kind of liked it. After the Sanctus, I kneeled on the ground to the right of the Priest with only her and the Altar in front of me. Just bowed when she bowed and tried to be as least distracting as possible. Couldn't see anything going on, but I'm okay with that. I found it leaps and bounds easier to focus than at other services where I'm facing the people, but you all know my proclivities.

I HAD THIS hymn singing through my head throughout the day. Thought I might share it with you, perhaps it will sing through your mind, too.

Strengthen for service, Lord, the hands
That holy things have taken;
Let ears that now have heard thy songs
To clamor never waken.

Lord, may the tongues which ‘Holy’ sang
Keep free from all deceiving;
The eyes which saw Thy love be bright
Thy blessèd hope perceiving.

The feet that tread Thy holy courts
From light do Thou not banish;
The bodies by Thy body fed
With Thy new life replenish.

HERE IS A LOVELY sermon preached by the Archbishop of Canterbury on All Saint's at one of the bastions of Anglo-Catholicism: All Saints, Margret Street. A few favorite lines that will spurn much meditation of the next few days:

"The second thing is of course that if the great saints of God are not made perfect without us, then in the future there are an awful lot of people on whose faith and holiness we are going to depend. One day we will be the golden age, or the great generation that has now passed: deeply unlikely as that may seem. One day people are going to look back on us and it would be nice to think that they would look back with gratitude . . . So because time is not of great significance in the kingdom of Heaven, All Saints' day is, it seems a celebration of the future as well as the past."

WHICH, OF COURSE, reminds me of some lines from another Anglo-Catholic, T.S Eliot and The Four Quartets:

"We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England."

Wonderful words of wonderful ideas from two of our very own saints! Much to think upon!

(Note: This is a video of the Sarum Mass, which was indigenous to England before the Roman Rite began to be widely practiced. The video begins with the Sanctus, then there is the consecration of the elements and the elevations (3:40-5:20), followed by the Benedictus. I think its a good representation of what I speak of below, namely, the holiness associated with the Elevation.)

I HAVE WANTED to read Eamon Duffy's The Stripping of the Altars since I first heard about it over at The Ship of Fools (where else would one hear about such things?) some time ago. The book is all about popular English piety from the late medieval ages through the English Reformation. Simply put, his thesis is that in spite of Henry and the Puritans, your average lay folk in England remained Catholic in thought and practice. This is why the Reformation in England was not as complete as it was elsewhere; many were unwilling to give up the idea of England as "Mary's Dowry" (much to the chagrin of those dastardly Reformers!). He explains this thesis through exhaustive research, witty stories and all the liturgical ephemera that you can shake a stick at. In short, it is a giddy playground for a Church nerd like me.

I RECEIVED THE book on Monday am already almost a quarter of the way through its six hundred pages-- it is that good. Anyway, one of the interesting tidbits is that for your average lay person, the most holy moment in the Mass was the Elevation of the elements. This, of course, takes place after the words of Institution ('this is my body . . .") and the Priest hoists the host high above his head for all in the congregation to see. Bells were used to draw the congregant out of her own prayers and to direct her attention to the altar, where it was about to happen. It was the holiest moment because most did not receive the Sacrament but once a year at Easter, so to gaze adoringly on your Lord in the host was the next best thing.

WE HAVE KEPT both the bells and the elevation in this day, but perhaps not with the depth of emotional piety that our ancestors did. I'm sure this is just a byproduct of being able to commune at every Mass and the fact that we overhear every word that the Priest says (so it is more difficult to have our own prayers). In large part, we have a better educated laity, but have traded in some of the holy awe that comes from ignorance of such matters. Most people have at least a basic understanding of Aquinas' idea of Transubstantiation and are not afraid to speak of the Holy Mysteries in mixed company -- which usually leads to arguments.

I KNOW, I know, you're probably thinking I want to return us to the good ole' days of the Medieval period when men were men and the women weren't, but I really don't. In many ways I think the Holy Spirit has lead us marvelously out of those days. I'm just wondering if in our rush to reform and our rush to understand new realms of knowledge that were not opened up to us before (like knowing specifically what was going on at Mass) we've traded in something that could be worthwhile in this day and age.

I'M NOT SURE sure who got the short end of the deal: those illiterate lay folk in the Medieval ages or our super-knowledgeable over-opinionated laity of today. Of which, surely, I am one.

TODAY HAS BEEN a good day. My parish had its yearly visitation from our Bishop, the Rt. Rev. Charles G. vonRosenberg, who I think has the greatest name and Carolinian accent ever. Sundries aside, he came to confirm and reaffirm about twenty people -- the majority under the age of thirty (Yes. You read that correctly). They were all there, of course: white, black, male, female, conservative, liberal, gay, straight, young and old. Some were your standard Episcopal fare, some were wonderfully not. Their diversity is a testament to the Gospel of Christ that is shown at the Altar and incarnated in the lives of our family, however imperfect they may be. I've had the pleasure of getting to know the most of the Confirmands and am excited to see where and how God will use them in the future. During the liturgy, they all stood in front of the Bishop and when asked about their renewing their commitment to Jesus Christ, they responded: ". . . with God's grace I will follow him as my Savior and Lord." Amen.

AMONG THE CONFIRMANDS was my best friend, a fellow Milligan student and former roommate. I had the privilege to be his sponsor. And words fail me, except that it was an honor to stand with him.

AS I WAS waiting with him for his turn in front of the Bishop, the scene was striking. There we were in the middle of the Nave, in the middle of the line of twenty. Directly in front of us was the Bishop who was seated on a makeshift Throne. To his left stood a Deacon holding a Prayer Book and the Crozier. In front of the Bishop, on either side were some of the teachers of the Confirmation class, all facing each other. My Priest was standing along with with them. Directly to our left and right were pews filled with the faithful. It was as if we were in a tunnel that led to the Bishop. It struck me as being a foreshadow of the heavenly court, where Christ is seated amidst his faithful people, as they are presented to Him. We're all presented and presenting.

(Note: A friend asked me for my definition of a mystic tonight. Even though I dabble in Christian Mystical thought and have had a few first-hand experiences, I do not consider myself an expert. But I was on hand, so I answered the best I could. Here follows my answer.)

A MYSTIC IS not someone who lives in the ether: a true Christian Mystic is not someone who is so "heavenly minded that they're no earthly good". Nor is a mystic someone who performs great feats of holy strength like live on a pillar for forty days or retire to the desert for the rest of their life, only living on the Eucharist. Nor is a mystic someone who has vague notions about the divine and what that looks like in the day-to-day life. Yes, a mystic may do these things: they may seem foolish to the world, they may have great acts of purgation, and seem to live in "the grey area" because they cannot adequately express their interaction with the divine. But these things alone, do not a mystic make.

TO ME, I think a mystic is someone who believes that through prayer, union with the Divine is probable, possible and to be desired. By this broad definition, I believe that most Christians are mystics by default. This world of prayer and union with the divine, though probably not thought about, is actually practiced by many Christians, whether they call it theosis, sanctification, or whatever. There are Protestant Mystics (I'm reminded of AW Tozer, especially) and Orthodox Mystics and Roman Catholic Mystics and yes, even Anglican Mystics. To them, prayer is more than just communication with the Godhead, but it is -- through Christ -- the immersion of the soul in God like (as St. Teresa put it) a drop of water in a rushing river.

AN ACTUAL EXPERT, Evelyn Underhill defined it in her book Practical Mysticism as "the art of union with Reality." I think this is marvelous! Let me explain:

SIN AND THE sinful nature is something that is not based in Reality. I think this is most clearly seen in the sin of lust. When someone looks at pictures of an illicit nature, it invokes in the viewer feelings, perhaps emotionally, but most certainly physically the idea that there is some sort of intimacy between the viewer and what is being viewed. Whereas in Reality, viewer is simply looking at pixels or the printed page or whatever. What about when a woman desires for a married man. Though he may reciprocate the feelings and actions, it still does not remove the Reality that he is one flesh with his wife.

SIN IS NOT based in Reality. What about someone who engages in gluttony? Though (in Reality) they have eaten themselves full, they still desire more, thinking that they are hungry for whatever reason. Or the sin of Pride? Someone is prideful if they have an inflated view of themselves that is not based on the Reality that they are in need of Kyrie Eleison. I think this can be shown with all the other sins, too, but I need not labor the point.

SIN -- IN ITS very nature -- is the denial of Reality. By sinning, we've mutated and distorted Reality to suit our own desires, pleasures and needs. All of them: from Lust to Pride, from Greed to Gluttony are a false world we've made for ourselves. Its as if we've built all this massive amount of scaffolding around our souls in a vain attempt to reshape Reality into what we think it should be. We've built intimacy where there is none, we value what is worthless, we've built barns and bigger barns when there should be liberal giving. Sin is a false world whose consequences are felt in our own souls and bodies and in the souls and bodies of others.

A MYSTIC, HOWEVER, strives to let God purge themselves of these false worlds -- these huge scaffoldings that surround of the soul -- through complete submission to God. Describing this in Open Mind, Open Heart, Thomas Keating writes that "Contemplative prayer is the world in which God can do anything." I think this is true: through contemplative prayer, fasting and other such practices, the mystic allows God to tear down those false worlds that he has joyfully made. Perhaps, she prays most deeply the worlds of Our Lord, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

BEING A MYSTIC, therefore is all about the art of union with Reality. Both the Reality of God and the world as it truly is. The Reality that the soul is situated in the hand of God (as Julian put it) like something smaller than a Hazelnut in your own palm. Through the brightness of mystical experiences or that purgative Dark Night of St. John of the Cross there is the union with God. But also, in that Reality, there is a deeper connection with the world -- the world as it truly is. The Christian mystic sees the world for what it truly is: fallen, but being redeemed; broken, but being healed; and offering nothing, but the breaking forth for the Kingdom of God.

THEREFORE, THE MYSTIC'S priorities are vastly different than that of the average person. In storing up treasure in heaven, they are seen as foolish to the world. In their radical submission to God like a living sacrifice, they might do odd things. From a worldly perspective, they seem to live in the ether (often accused of being "absent minded professors"). Their "vague" notions are anything but an actual face-to-face interaction with that Reality. That interaction with Reality is so different from what is known, that it is confusing to those who only know the scaffolding. And by that interaction God tears down scaffolding and the mystic helps others to let Him do the same.

IN SHORT, THEY commune with Truth.

BACK IN THE day (as in October 25th) I wrote a post that explained my own personal feelings about the Bishop of Rome's offering a home to angry Anglicans in the Roman Church -- as long as they submit to him. I offered precious little in the way of understanding the offer, as I can't add more than what numerous commentators have already said. Last evening, however, everything changed. After getting off of work, a new understanding of the situation was given to me in what seemed like a dream. As my good friend AO used to say, "It was as if God reached down and punched me in the throat." And indeed, He did. And I'd like to share that with you.

ANYONE WHO HAS taken the SAT knows that a major portion of the test is made up of analogies. Surely, you must know these quite well, but here's a sample just in case you can't remember: A maniple is to a Mass as _____ is to getting into heaven. Of course, you know the answer is faith, because a maniple is always required for a Mass to valid; so is faith to get into the heavenly realms. Simple enough, right?

ANALOGIES ARE NOT only the bane of pimply, hormonal and awkwardly lanky teenagers, but are also the bane of plump Christians throughout the world, since the scriptures are filled with them. One cannot peruse the Gospel of Matthew with out discovering the phrase The Kingdom of God is like . . . on just about ever sentence. Our Lord used metaphors and analogies to make a point or jab at the Pharisees in his parables. As they told me in Sunday School, A parable is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. Its even in our hymnody with this little line from St. Thomas Aquinas: Types and shadows have their ending. So, God likes saying stuff is like stuff because of this stuff. And you get a new stuff comes from all that stuff.

THIS NEW UNDERSTANDING for the Roman Question comes from Star Trek: The Next Generation (of holy memory). Let me explain:

YOU SEE, THE Anglican Communion is like the Federation. We've got all these autonomous ships flying about the galaxy without much to do with each other. This is just like how the AC is made up of autonomous Churches throughout the world, all spreading the Gospel in their own way. Some are Captained by women (TEC) or by overly excited men too focused on sex (Nigeria) or by wise, bald British men (the C of E). Each of the ships have their own mission, either to seek out life or to boldy go where no man has gone before -- you know, whatever. They live in relative peace and harmony, even though the disagree occasionally. Need I labor this any longer?

THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH is like the crew of USS Enterprise 1701-D (or E, if you please). Our Data is ++KJS, who brilliantly leads and informs with the a cool, low voice and lock jaw. We've got Counselor Troy in our touchy-feely-o-my-God-we-can't-offend-the-Muslims-crowd. We have our passionate warriors like Will Riker and Worf with +Spong (eww) and +Ackerman (whoops, he left).We've got Will Crusher in the fact that we have the gays who have too close of a relationship with their mothers. We've got the African Americans (Geordi and Guinan). I'm even sure we have people who have posed for magazines of ill repute! Just like the Enterprise what unites Episcopalians is a common faith (er, the Prime Directive?) and a common mission (the Baptismal Covenant). We like reason and science. Need I labor this any longer?

THE ROMAN CHURCH, therefore is like the Borg. The Borg, you might recall, are a race of Cyborgs who assimilate other races into their collective. Each individual Borg has no sense of individuality, but shares all of its thoughts with the rest of those Borgs. When Borgs get away from their Collective, they begin to get lonely. This is just like the Romans, except the "Collective" is the voice of tradition throughout the two thousand year history of the Church. They lose a lot of individuality with all those voices of tradition screaming in their ears. They are no longer Sally or Bill, but "3 of 5". You must coordinate with the collective's stance on birth control or whatever. The Borgs only focus on assimilating entire cultures (seldom attacking individuals). This is just like the Roman desire to see entire Anglo-Catholic parishes come over to Rome, keeping their Prayer Books and (now MAYBE keep) their married Priests! The Borg have a Queen, so do the Romans (and we all know who she is!) Need I labor this any longer?

WELL, IT ALL makes sense to me now. Clearly.

(Note: Intrepid friend and roommate, RJ was gracious enough to chastize me that Kyrie Eleison is, in fact, Greek and not Latin. This has been edited below. I did know this and had a momentary lapse of reason -- but doesn't calling it Latin make it more poetic, even though not correct? :D Thank you, RJ, for showing me the error of my sinful ways.)

I'LL BE HONEST with you, I have mixed feelings about All Souls' Day (I'm sure you just dropped your coffee and yelled to your wife [who at that moment was removing the curlers from her hair in the bathroom], "Come Quick! Andy disagrees with Tradition! This is gonna be juicy!"). Praying for the dead is quite traditional and attested from the earliest of Christian sources. I don't think its unbiblical (like that's ever stopped me) or unnatural or even unhealthy. In fact, I do it for those exact reasons: it is traditional, biblical, natural and healthy. What always trips me up is whether it is effectual or not. Does praying for the dead make a lick of difference?

I SUPPOSE THE real issue here is the concept of the afterlife. I think I share more in common with my Eastern Orthodox brethren when it comes to the afterlife than I do with the Calvinists down the street. Simply put: we will all experience the Second Coming of Christ, but those who are being redeemed will experience it as ecstasy. Those who have not turned to God will experience it as great pain. Hell is simply the experience of that one person in the hands of an all-loving, almighty God and Heaven is, too. That pain of hell-within-the-human-heart is purgative, however, and eventually gives away to ecstasy. This is attested in the West by Julian of Norwich and C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, among others. One might say that I'm a hopeful Universalist.

EVEN THOUGH I think this is how it will all turn out, I can't be sure. Of course, the Calvinists could be correct that God is eternally angry and has already chosen those he wants in heaven and those who will be eternally separated from Himself -- without hope of redemption. One can never be sure about the hereafter, though. I think it was seraphimsigrist who wrote once that talking about the afterlife is like a child-in-the-womb thinking about what life would be like outside of the womb. I found this very helpful, for I think we use images, types, shadows and talk-in-between-words to express that inexpressible thing that is Christian hope. I don't know what the afterlife will look like. I don't know who is going to "heaven" or to "hell" or if those have any meaning at all. I don't know, because its a world I've never been to and I've only had the slightest of foretaste in the Eucharist.

WHAT DO I know? Well, t does frightens me that all I know can all be summed up so succinctly in that old Latin Greek phrase: Kyrie Eleison. All of my knowledge (which is very little) leads back to God's mercy. All that I have done with my life is only a tiny testament to His mercy. His mercy is what sustains all life and gives it breath. All I know and experience -- and perhaps ever known and experienced -- is God's mercy. I think, therefore, any discussion of the afterlife and what we think might happen (or even when discussing the biblical evidence) needs to start and end with Kyrie eleison. This will keep our conversations and ideas grounded in the reality of his mercy (which is essentially a posture of humility).

DON'T WORRY I am working my way back to the celebration of All Souls' Day. All this discussion, however, of Kyrie Eleison reminds me of a scene in Charles Williams' novel, The War in Heaven, where the Holy Grail has been discovered in early 20th Century England. In one scene, the evil guys start attacking the grail from a distance through black rituals. Those who have been put in charge of the Grail's protection see it start to disintegrate before their very eyes. In a panic, one of the good guys turns to the main good guy (the Archdeacon) and says, "What can we pray against to stop this?" The Archdeacon simply replies, "We don't pray against anything. We pray that God would continue to sustain the world." They do and the attack is thwarted.

I DO NOT celebrate All Souls' Day or pray for the deceased because I think its effectual. At least, I'm not sure its effectual in any typical way: that it cools the fires of Purgatory or frees souls from hell (remember, I'm not so sure about those things, anyway). No, I pray that God would continue to sustain, care and love the dead. That the Lord shall make good his loving kindness. Truly, that thy mercy, O Lord, endureth for ever. Especially, that He would despise not then the works of thine own hands. That God would sustain and love for the dead -- as much as for the living -- for they, too, are in the palm of the most High God, whose property it is always to have mercy. That they may be wrapped up in his love, that they may have rest eternal granted unto them and that light perpetual shine upon them.

THIS IS WHY I celebrate All Souls' Day. Because it is yet another reminder of Kyrie Eleison, that the living and dead are always in the sight of the Lord and in His loving and tender care. That their journey (and ours) happens only because he is our very ground of being is always merciful.

"Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord : Lord, hear my voice.
O let thine ears consider well : the voice of my complaint.
If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss : O Lord, who may abide it?
For there is mercy with thee : therefore shalt thou be feared.
I look for the Lord; my soul doth wait for him : in his word is my trust.
My soul fleeth unto the Lord : before the morning watch, I say, before the morning watch.
O Israel, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy : and with him is plenteous redemption.
And he shall redeem Israel : from all his sins (Ps. 130)."

INDEED, WE AND all the Souls of the Faithfully Departed flee unto you, O Lord. Kyrie Eleison

THIS WAS A reading for Morning Prayer of All Saints' Day. I hadn't read it before, found it particularly moving and thought I'd pass it along your way:

"I, Ezra, saw on Mount Zion a great multitude that I could not number, and they all were praising the Lord with songs. In their midst was a young man of great stature, taller than any of the others, and on the head of each of them he placed a crown, but he was more exalted than they. And I was held spellbound. Then I asked an angel, ‘Who are these, my lord?’ He answered and said to me, ‘These are they who have put off mortal clothing and have put on the immortal, and have confessed the name of God. Now they are being crowned, and receive palms.’ Then I said to the angel, ‘Who is that young man who is placing crowns on them and putting palms in their hands?’ He answered and said to me, ‘He is the Son of God, whom they confessed in the world.’ So I began to praise those who had stood valiantly for the name of the Lord (2 Esdras 2:42-47)."

And this lovely little line from the Epistle to the Hebrews that describes the Old Testament Saints, but can be easily applied to those who knew Christ and made Him known:

"They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented— of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground (11:37-38, emphasis mine)."

WONDERFUL LITTLE PASSAGES, are they not?