A Red State Mystic.

On miracles of the heart.

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 04:51:03 GMT

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.

On A Quiet (Half) Day

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 04:13:21 GMT

(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.

On Wise Words from ++Rowan and Eliot

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 04:44:28 GMT

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!

On The Stripping of the Altars

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 21:00:05 GMT

(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.

On Confirmation Sunday.

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 02:27:59 GMT

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.

On what it means to be a mystic, to me.

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 07:11:16 GMT

(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.

On the Roman Option (2)

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 04:45:30 GMT

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.

On All Souls' Day

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 04:51:03 GMT

(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

An Evening Meditation for All Saints

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 04:43:51 GMT

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?

On Halloween and A Prayer

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 22:31:11 GMT

I AM FEELING punchy -- you've been warned. Last night, my roommate had a close, mutual friend of ours over to carve pumpkins. Of course, being nerdier concerning things of an ecclesiastical nature than I, he couldn't resist carving the Episcopal Shield and setting it next to our statue of St. Francis. Doing this, he bypasses Halloween altogether and heads straight towards The Feast of All Saints. As God intended, of course.

I DID NOT, however, take part in their pagan celebrations by carving cucurbitas. No, instead, I went in for the whole kit-and-kaboodle Halloween experience by seeing Paranormal Activities with one of my best friends. Truly, it was the scariest movie that I've ever seen. Plus, it was well done! I liked the characters, the writing wasn't terrible, the acting was great and my spine was tingled for most of the evening. After dropping my friend off, I had to listen to bad Christian radio with its horrid harmonies to clear the air, so to speak. It was that frightening.

IN OTHER NEWS, a friend on Facebook was asking if anyone knew any "potions or spells that turn leaves into money?" I responded that there is surely something in the back of the Prayer Book for this. Well, there isn't. I looked. So, I humbly give you this:

A Prayer For An Occasion Of Turning Leaves Into Money:

V. The eyes of all wait upon thee.
R. And thou givest them their monies in due season.

Let us pray:

O LORD OUR God, who hast fearfully and wonderfully made all things and who putteth them in subjection unto thy Son, Our Lord, Jesus Christ, We do this day beseech thee that thou wouldst look with favor upon us, thy humble servants, as thou once did to the goodly widow of Zarephath when thou gavest her oil in abundance, by turning these +departed fooliages in substance unto a manner worthy of trade. Wherein with it, we may buy manifold and nicely things for thee and thy house like unto vestments lined with the finest of laces, thuribles to give us the odour of thy love and Sherry for a fine countenance. Of course, Our Lord, we shall neither forget thee nor neglect thee when we buy bigger houses or be-dazzle our jackets with our own names, but shall alway visit thee in thy lock-ed box over on the Altar to the side. Mercifully prevent us with thy grace, through Jesus Christ, Our Lord, to whom with you and the Holy Ghost be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

A BLESSED HALLOWEEN, All Saints' Day and All Soul's Day, to you, my friends.

On The Roman Option

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 03:46:48 GMT

NO DOUBT, YOU'VE all heard that Rome is offering a home for Anglicans -- both in and out of communion with Canterbury. The offer: submit to the Roman Catholic Church and you can keep your thoroughly Anglican ways, everything from the Prayer Book to married Priests. This is an open invitation to whole communities who are dissatisfied with the current state of Anglicanism. Whether that dissatisfaction be the conversation over Women Bishops (in the C of E), the consecration of +Gene Robinson (in TEC), or anything else. Of course, what I find ironic about all of this is that the Anglo-Catholic parishes this is intended to reach probably don't use the Prayer Book and are more "Roman" in style and practice than the Roman Catholic St. So-and-So's down the street. Anyway, there is much commentary on a variety of blogs (just visit those in the sidebar) that I feel I have nothing more to offer in terms of understanding this action. That is, except my personal feelings.

SINCE THE ANNOUNCEMENT, many have come up to me and asked me if I have plans on taking the Papal offer. Friends from my Parish said they thought of me immediately when the announcement was made and my not-so-crypto-Papism. When I was back at my Alma Mater for a rehearsal on Wednesday, I was stopped by a few friends asking me what I was going to do.

OF COURSE, THEY are not without recourse for thinking that. I once wrote a serious of posts entitled Don't Be Shocked If You End Up Back Home, which detailed my spiritual journey to almost becoming Roman Catholic. It would have happened, if AO hadn't offered me to go to Church with him back in '06 (Thanks, Andy!). The real clincher, so to speak, was hearing ++Katherine. Anglicanism was the way that I could practice the Catholic faith once delivered to the Apostles and Saints without the Dogma and Pontiff of the Roman Church.

I AM A self-titled Anglo-Catholic (of the Prayer Book variety). I pray the Rosary, believe in the Transubstantiation and genuflect-to-my-heart's-content (bow to the altar, knee to the tabernacle) without disagreement. I make statements that I think that all should be facing East and that Latin is of high priority, though it is not Our Lady's native tongue (ie. the Queen's English). The Daily Office and the Mass are the bread-and-butter of my prayer life; I own a copy of the Anglican Breviary and know how to use it; The St Augustine's Prayer Book is always nearby. The Sacrament of Reconcliation at least once a month. I follow the calendar and I always set a goal to fast on Fridays. I personally prefer that the Eucharist be done with as much solemnity and holy awe as possible: to look and smell more like a Roman Mass than the Protestant equivalent. Oh yeah, and don't call me Protestant -- that pisses me off.

LIKE MY OTHER friends and fellow parishioners, you're probably asking yourself, "Is he going to take the Roman option?" Let me see if I can adequately answer this:

Obviously, I could easily become Roman without much change in my day-to-day life. But, I'm not Roman for a reason: the Anglican Ethos. In a few ways like our Roman mother (and in so many ways unlike her), Anglicanism is the home of a broad Catholicity. Within Anglicanism, we have and celebrate everything from the highest-of-the-high to the lowest-of-the-low and everything in between, celebrating all streams as a valid and authentic expression of the faith once delivered to the Apostles and Saints.
That's because, at least to me, the faith once delivered to the Apostles and Saints consists not in whether or not one prays the Rosary or engages the Confessional, but the faith once delivered is the Creeds. As long as a person professes that same faith in Creeds, I trust their own judgment (in union with their Bishop, spiritual director, and community) in how to best live out the faith they profess.
As far as I can tell, Rome defines Catholicity as specifically as possible. Everything from stances on contraception to disbelief in the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady are all grounds for excommunication (though seldom enforced). Yes, the Creeds are there, but there is so much more that is required to be a member in good standing. Faith, as I understand the Roman view, seems to be found in specific ideologies, not in the theology of the Church. While I agree with many of their ideologies, I do not and will not use those ideologies as a litmus test to see who is a truer Christian.

To me, therefore, becoming under the allegiance of the Roman Pontiff and their dogma (even though I believe most of it) would mean that I would give up this broad catholicity that Anglicanism so wonderfully incarnates. In short: in becoming Roman Catholic, I would give up being Catholic. Do I have my problems with The Episcopal Church? Yes, but in my opinion, these are not creedal issues; therfore, I do not see them requiring that I fly elsewhere.

FINALLY: ONE OF the things I loved about working at Atlanta's Episcopal Church of the Holy Comforter is that the hot topics of Anglican politics never came up. I mean, they never came up (the one time that it did, a member said, "If we get kicked out of the Anglican Communion, will someone email us?"). My theory: the reason why it never came up was because we were too damn busy feeding, serving, praying with and loving those who were in need. We didn't have the time to care. And it taught me a very important lesson.

THEREFORE, MY SUGGESTION to my Anglo-Catholic brethren in the US, next time you think about +Gene Robinson or Women Bishops or whatever it is that makes you mad, get up and do something (this applies to my progressive brethren, too). Polish the pews. Straighten the Prayer Books. Visit the lonely. Feed someone who is hungry. Sweep the front walk of the Church. Put your anger and confusion to benefit the Church. Or you know, you could actually do the Anglican thing and pray. Next time you want to complain about the state of whatever, take you and your fellow complainers, go before the Most Blessed Sacrament and pray for whatever/whoever it is that makes you angry. I think the dialogue would get a whole lot more Christlike.

On Sacrifice and Obedience (Part 2).

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:47:51 GMT

"They limped about the altar that they had made (1 Ki 18:26)."

AND YET, THERE stands the Eucharist. The Eucharist stands diametrically opposed to that kind of Deist thinking. Instead of a far-away god who seldom involves itself in the actions of the world, we have the Christ of the Eucharist who steps into the day-to-day life of the world. There is no cutting or shouting or even over-the-top sacrifices, there only is Christ giving of Himself completely to all who would partake. The Eucharist just reveals that God has and always will love, care and sustain his creation. As it is written, in Him we move and have our being. How can we move in Him if He is but a careless, feckless thug hell bent on receiving your lifeblood like a thirsty Aztec deity?

NO. THE GOD of the Eucharist (that is, the true God) has a vested interest in you and your life. He is not just the solution to some unsolvable problem but is the very source of life from which you take breath. This God of the Eucharist doesn't even stand ready to help, but is actively working for the good in the world. Though it may feel like he seldom involves Himself, the God of the Eucharist stands and gives of Himself -- through very simple day-to-day things of bread and wine -- at every Altar throughout the Earth. Unlike the hybrid god of the Christian Deist, this God of the Eucharist desireth not sacrifice, nor delightest in burnt offerings. No, the over-the-top sacrifices that this God desires are a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart.

THEREFORE, LET US return to that Chapel speaker at my Alma Mater, you remember, the one who spent a year as a homeless person and the fawning of the student body. I wonder how the God of the Eucharist would look at this? The action itself, of course, is very laudable and the goal very courageous. But, is it necessary? Would the God of the Eucharist require this kind of over-the-top sacrifice? Do we, as Christians who follow the God of the Eucharist need to do things like this? In short, no. As the Psalmist puts it, sacrifice . . . you have not desired. And elsewhere: to obey is better than sacrifice. We, too, must imitate that which we worship. I think what the God of the Eucharist wants is not over-the-top dramatic workings of grace (even though these do occur), but simple day-to-day offerings of obedience, just like He gives of Himself every day in the Mass.

IF YOU WANT to do something great for Jesus, if you want to change the world, don't do something over the top. Do the simple things and do them with careful obedience. I will even go so far as to say that if you prayed Compline faithfully at stroke of midnight for a year, you would change your life more dramatically than doing something drastic for the same time. To give to all people who ask money from you (even the smallest amount) rather than live as one of "them" for a summer. To go into your closet and pray faithfully than to retreat at once. To carefully mind the words of your spiritual director than to read all the best of Christian thought (that was painful for me to write). To fast on Fridays throughout the year than to fast for three days straight. Am I making sense?

YES, THE BIG things are laudable and you'll get there (believe me, the crucifixion is a big deal). But this is a more perfect way, one that does not lead to frustration or wild gyrations of spiritual discipline.These kinds of little obediences are of the faith that was once delivered to the Saints (especially Therese of Lisieux and Bro. Lawrence). This is what the God the Eucharist does in our day-to-day lives, and we should proceed in the same manner.

THE GOD OF the Deists just wants your blood, sweat and toil but the God of the Eucharist wants you -- all of you. The you that's moody, the you that's joyous, the you that's beset with pain, the you that has felt nothing of faith for years. The you from day-to-day who comes to Him just as you are, in whatever manner you find yourself from day-to-day, and cries out for mercy and for a changed heart. And yes, there is sacrifice in this kind of obedience. But it is the kind of sacrifices that lead to a broken heart and a changed life.

Blessed, praised, hallowed and adored be our Lord Jesus Christ on his throne of glory in heaven,
in the most holy Sacrament of the altar and in the hearts of his faithful people.

On Sacrifice and Obedience (Part 1).

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 03:44:52 GMT

(Futurama's Hedonismbot.)

"They limped about the altar that they had made (1 Ki 18:26)."

MANY OF US, however unknowingly, follow the god of the Deists. The concept: God created the world, set it in motion like a watch maker, then stepped back and seldom interferes. When this god does interfere, it is very much in the vain of Deus et Machina. To get this god to interfere takes quite a bit of coaxing and sacrifice. Then, this god steps down and sets all in right. It vanquishes the enemy (whether that be illnesses or another army) and retreats back to its holy slumber, only to wake next time the perfectly-ordered world needs a little kick.

WE KNOW THIS god quite well. This is the god who we entreat and beg day after day in asking for a miracle. This god requires fasts and the emotional equivalent the cutting oneself in order to heal the one you love. Often, when Christians entreat this god, they find their prayers frustratingly unanswered. Back when I traveled in Pentecostal circles, they referred to this as "the heavens becoming like brass", where your prayers seemingly just bounce off the ceiling and -- splat! -- land right on your face. It demands some kind of over-the-top sacrifice in order for it get off of its celestial couch. It is almost like this god craves your sacrifice like an Aztec god the human sacrifices.

I AM REMINDED of someone who once spoke at my Alma Mater's Chapel service. It was a gentleman who decided to spend a year as a homeless person and see what it was like. Now, for all I know, he might have done this out of obedience and with his heart in the right place. Who am I to say? What shocked me was the fawning of the student body. "Man" they might say, "that was deep! Can you believe that! I can't wait to do something like that for Jesus!" Some where even planning (or daydreaming) about over-the-top sacrifices to make for "Jesus." There is a great temptation to think that God requires something great. There again is that Deist god requiring sacrifice, growing fat from his gorging from your over-the-top actions.

"THEY THAT MAKE them are like unto them" says the Psalmist (115) in reference to those who make idols. In much the same way the Christians are duped into following the Deist god, so too do their lives change to please this ever-unpleased-and-lazy-diety. They require titillating stories or almost-pornographic images of the third world to be moved to action. They ignore the poor on their own street while going to the urban poor to minister (of this I am most guilty). They might go to hell and back for Fair-Trade Coffee, but will be the first to leave a terrible tip at a restaurant.

I HOPE THIS makes sense: because the god they follow is separate from the day-to-day workings of their life, they do not see (or want to see) the workings of God happening in their day-to-day life. Their god only works in the extraordinary; therefore, they can only work in the extraordinary (like the things listed above). They are just like the idol that they have made.

AND YET, THERE is the Eucharist . . . (more to come, I promise!)

On Fear

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 00:26:42 GMT

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

THERE IS NO grave so watery, no pit too deep, no darkness so black
that the "Alleluia" does not burst forth like a child from the womb.
And even there: at the grave, the pit, the darkness, and at the emergence from the womb-of-this-life,
we will raise our song of "Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia."

We shall sing it until our voices are hoarse with pain;
We shall sing it in harmonious soliloquy with those before us and those ahead,
We shall sing it in praise of Him who conquered death and said:
"I am the resurrection and the life . . .
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

On Worthless Things (2).

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 19:22:27 GMT

HERE IS AN excellent little video explaining the lavabo during the Mass, that I used in yesterday's post. Notice which Psalm is used?

On Worthless Things.

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 03:54:19 GMT

I SERVED AT the early Mass on Sunday (8:00 AM). I hardly ever go to this service because I sing in the Choir at the 10:30 service, it is too damn early and I normally serve at one of the Masses through the week. In all honesty, I do like the early Mass even though it is so damn early; I like it for its language (Rite I) and for the fact that it is much quieter and intimate. For some reason, whenever I go to it, I always feel like I go to a small parish church in England, where I have to bike through the fog by low rock walls to get there. Of course, being a good Episcopal Church, the older part of St. John's does resemble that. Unfortunetly, there wasn't any fog nor was there a bike. There was only me rushing to Church with wet hair and prayers that my '92 White Cutlass Ciera doesn't die. I had just enough time to spare to take a look at the readings and pray my preparations.

WE PRAYED THE Psalm in call-and-response ("responsively by the whole verse"), where I take one verse, they the second and I, the third. There I was vested in my cassock, surplice and quasi-wet hair standing in the Ambo when it suddenly hit me. It hit me: this Psalm is not very Jesus-y. Of course, you'd think someone who has some semblence of a discipline with the Daily Office would have thought this before; the Daily Office all revolves around the Psalms! But it still struck me differently than, say, Ps. 137:9. Here's a few verses:

I have not sat with the worthless, *
nor do I consort with the deceitful.
I have hated the company of evildoers; *
I will not sit down with the wicked.
I will wash my hands in innocence, O LORD, *
that I may go in procession round your altar,
Singing aloud a song of thanksgiving *
and recounting all your wonderful deeds.

Didn't Jesus sit with the worthless gentiles, the deceitful tax collectors and the evil-doing Romans? Of course He did. It caused great scandal with the folks who share in its seemingly snug sense of, "Well, screw you guys, I'm going to Church." They were scandalized because they lived lives beyond reproof and always kept good company. There were never any doubts about their holiness as they spoke to each other (and the general public) in loud tones about their good works. They were scandalized, perhaps, because their holiness was about avoidance, whereas His holiness was embracing. One drove away the little children with prophetic shouts; the other brought near with prophetic whisperings of come to me . . . and you will find rest.

WHAT OF THIS tension between our inclusive Lord and this exclusive Psalm? Should I be bothered that this Psalm is not very Jesus-y? Perhaps not, for both quite a bit of time seperates the two and both were from a different cultural milleau. They are different products of differing cultures. Perhaps, I should just accept it and go on, perhaps thanking God that we follow the "New Testament" God of love, peace and gentleness. But perhaps I should be bothered by this. I'm not a follower of the Marcionite Heresey, so I do believe that this Psalm does inform us about Our Lord, just as much as the New Testament and the Gospels do; that the Old Testament and the New are both shadows of the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ.

LORD, I love the house in which you dwell *
and the place where your glory abides.

SAYS VERSE 8 of the Psalm. While I'm quite sure that the Psalmist here is referring to the Temple in Jerusalem, it suddenly struck me (from a New Testament position), it could be understood as the soul. For, as St. Paul wrote, Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? The soul of all men, women, children, young and old that is the Temple of the Most High God. And if the Most High God deigns to dwell within these humble souls of ours, then perhaps they can never be considered worthless, deceitful or evil-doing in their very substance. For we are all the dwelling place of God and he has made our souls, perhaps, for this very purpose.

SO, FROM A New Testament position, what is worthless, deceitful or evil? Certainly, it is not the people behind those actions (for the are the dwelling of God), but perhaps the actions themselves. For I, who am created in the image of God and who am a breathing tabernacle, often do just that: worthless words and actions, deceitful thoughts or deeds, and evil. But God -- who looks beyond the flesh -- never turns to me and calls me worthless. Never turns to me (after my many turnings) and calls me deceitful. Never turns to me (after my most grievous actions) and calls me evil. If what is worthless, deceitful and evil are actions, then we must love the houses in which Our Lord dwells: the souls of our neighbors.

THE MASS WENT on without a blimp in its typical, prayerful pace. At the Offertory, after helping the Priest set the Table, I whispered to him, "Do you want me to wash your hands?" Because, for some reason, at the Daily Masses, we don't do the lavabo. "Yes," he whispers back to me. So, I dangle the cloth over my arm and pour the water over his fingers. Perhaps, I was washing those worthy hands (for they are the tabernacle of God) of worthless things. The bread became the body of Christ, and those worthy fingers became the body of Christ. Lord, I love the house in which you dwell, and place where your glory abides.

On the Collect for the Day

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:32:37 GMT

Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire or deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy, forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things for which we are not worthy to ask, except through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ our Savior; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

NEED I SAY more?

On ______.

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 03:50:20 GMT

(Note: This is not a mad-lib. But one of those intensely personal posts that comes accross as vague. I'm okay with that.)

THERE IS A ______ that is so deep that words have not been invented to adequately express the gravitas behind it. Perhaps there cannot be any words to express ______, for the act of speaking (or writing) would immediately cheapen it upon recitation (or the action of pen to paper). There is no perfect sentence where every word is at home, no flick of the wrist, nor jot of the pen that can come close to ______'s non-smallness, or _____'s pulsing surge that slides like a new driver on the first snowy day. No, these words of ours cannot touch ______. Poets and Priests-of-old or Tomes-of-science come close. But I cannot use their words, because their words prostitute a fair bride-of-grace-and-beauty (that is, ______) into a three-dollar-lot-lizard (that is: fire, passion, et. al) perving for her next meal.

______ IS, AND perhaps always will be.

OFTEN, WHEN ONE has an experience with ______, one feels that one can simply hide in it and right it up unto the highest of heavens. This kind of interaction with ______ leads one to think that ______ is true intimacy. One clutches ______ in the expansive hours of pre-dawn can keep away the darkness (both outer and inner, of course). And the darkness is held at bay, for but a moment, for but the twinkling of an eye. Only to rush in again once the clutching of ______ ends. It is, perhaps not a fiery chariot to the firmament, but a simple retreat from the disappointments that the harsh light of day reveals for all to see. While ______ may be a "fair bride-of-grace-and-beauty" she is also a harsh mistress, leaving you in the cold.

BUT THERE ______ is, and perhaps always will be.

______ TURNED ITS back on me the other day, like so many days, like so many ways. When I saw ______ in the daylight as ______ turned from view, I knew in that instant -- for but a moment I knew -- that ______ tore from my arms for the last time. (Or perhaps, like always ______ would still lie in my arms, but not in my heart. No longer the vehicle to bliss, but the shell of former intentions.) It was I, however who bled; I, however, who cried; I, however who sat bewildered as the cords of ______ untangled from around me. It was I. It was I. It was I. And perhaps ______ walked off without any knowledge or idea of it.

BUT, I WANT to hold ______ again, even if it means not being held back. I want to know ______ again, even if it means that there is nothing to anything. Perhaps ______ will feel a tinge of regret one day, too. Look back and say, that ______ was sweet for them, too.

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?"

On A Choral Evensong

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 02:25:52 GMT

MY PARISH HAD a full-fledged, honest to God, real-life Solemn Choral Evensong tonight in anticipation for the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels (which is really on Tuesday). It was done according to the 1662 Book of Common Prayer with the Cloverdale Psalter. Due to the fact that our Thurifer was a member of the Choir, we were censed shortly following the procession, rather than at The Mag as Catholic Anglicans are wont to do. Regardless, he did a fantastic job -- even being adventurous to do some 360's or "twirlies" as my Rector called it. The Rector gave a great sermon on how heaven and earth are more closely related than we often think. Yours truly officiated, chanting the majority of the Office on a "g" ad nauseum. The responses, the Phos Hilaron, The Mag and The Nunc were all set to settings by Thomas Tallis. I do like Tallis, but I share the same opinion of him that I do of the the great JS Bach. Namely, that I like it better when others sing Thomas Tallis instead of me. But, what can you do for this old romantic heart? Give him Vaughan Williams, that's what you do.

I DO BELIEVE the previous paragraph is the most I've ever linked to Wikipedia. What can you do? Anyway, here is the lovely collect for the Office (which for some reason came from the '79):

Everlasting God, you have ordained and constituted in a wonderful order the ministries of angels and mortals: Mercifully grant that, as your holy angels always serve and worship you in heaven, so by your appointment they may help and defend us here on earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

As I was praying it tonight (again, on a "g") I had to smile to myself. How thoroughly Anglican, praising God for the "wonderful order" of Angels and men. We do like our order, don't we. The Angels -- perfectly ordered themselves -- are there to defend the divinely ordered systems of men. Only the Church that has an establishment history with a member of Royalty as its fidei defensor could write that. I chuckled inwardly and smiled. Someone once told me that Stanley Haurwas said that Methodism's motto is, "God is nice; therefore, we must be nice." I think that the Anglican motto could be, "God is ordered; therefore, we must be orderly." Insert Fish-Fork joke here.

On the Purgation of the Soul

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 03:51:00 GMT

(N.B: At some point during Mass this morning, I felt like I had just vomited. Okay, that is a bit of hyperbole, but the feeling of a great purge remained. It was something very similar to what I occasionally experience during contemplation. I think I'll share that with you, if you'd like.)

". . .and the god that answereth by fire, let him be God."

OFTEN TIMES, WHEN I'm engaged in Centering Prayer, I come to that place of deep stillness and peace. It is as if I am emerging out of a billowing, dark cloud of lightening and thunder. That cloud is my thoughts. Oddly, I have no absolutely no awareness of this storm while I'm in the middle of it. Once I fly out, I sit in look at it. I look at this ball of lighting and movement and I think, how did I not know or feel that I was in the middle of this activity? How could I have no awareness of its terribleness, its destructive power? I look at it, perhaps from a refuge in a little cave jutting out from the side of a mountain. There, in the barren wasteland that is my consciousness, I sit and watch it flash above the desert floor while the myriads of stars shine in the firmament above.

HOW COULD I not know that I was right in the middle of this gigantic catastrophe? What about the sound the air conditioner makes? In the dog days of summer, you might come home from a particularly noisy day at work to the dark icebox that is your home (truly a miracle of modern science!). You might think to yourself how much you've needed that precious "silence" and flop on the couch to soak yourself in it. You love this "silence" deeply and thank God for it. Then, at some point during your resting, the air conditioner stops running. You are suddenly immersed in true quiet and you realize that the other "silence" was no silence at all. But you didn't know that until you experienced a deeper silence.

HOW COULD I not know that I was living in the middle of the storm? What about a particularly windy day? You go for a walk and have to lean against the wind to stay upright. After the wind ceases for a moment, your muscles are still rigid until you relax them. And you do until the next gust comes.

HOW COULD I not know that I was living in the center of this mess? I once wrote the phrase, "dizzying roundabout circles of joy" to describe the times that I once shared with a friend. Living in the cloud is something like that. Except that each thought has a fabulous pedigree and we dwell on it just long enough to get something from it until the next shinny fabulously-pedigreed-thought comes along. All this energy is expended in every direction (perhaps the lighting) in search for what, I do not know. Each thought is grabbed with joy or with pain, for all we do is search out thoughts and react to them. It is as if each thought is a path that we only walk a few steps down before changing our mind and walking a few steps down another, before changing our mind and walking a few steps down another . . .

IT IS CONFUSION. It is shallow living. And I live in it everyday. This cloud is so large that I don't know the end or the beginning of it until I leave it. I'm so used to it that I will take its false sense of "peace" and "silence" as a gift from God. I'm so used to it that I don't even know that I'm in it until I feel the vast true silence of peace and then I relax.

I WATCH THIS cloud with its lightening from my little entrance to a cave on a rocky outcropping above the desert. The flashes reveal the barren wasteland of a desert, while above me are all the stars. I sit with my knees at my chest at the entrance of that cave for sometime, watching it all, breathing deeply the crisp evening air. The sky is so full of stars, those same stars that Abraham looked up to and Our Lord in the Garden saw and perhaps St. John of the Cross, too, when he wrote:

On a dark night, Kindled in love with yearnings
-- oh, happy chance!--
I went forth without being observed, My house being now at rest.

In darkness and secure, By the secret ladder, disguised
--oh,happy chance!--
In darkness and in concealment, My house being now at rest.

In the happy night, In secret, when none saw me, Nor I beheld aught,
Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart.

I survey the scene once again. Rising, I turn to go into the cave. And there, I find, after a few dangerous turns and groping in the darkness, the Child Jesus. The only light in this cave is the Holy Child. Illuminating all, he sits on the lap of Our Lady, with St. Joseph standing by. The shepherds and the donkeys are kneeling with adoring sighs. Perhaps the Saints are there, too, but I can't see them. A flaming cherubim hides his face, but gives off no light. Perhaps I hide behind a turn in the cave, lean my right side against those cool, hard rocks and adore for but a moment. Whispering, perhaps, from the depths of my being, "Lord have mercy" or "I love thee and I want to love thee more."

AND IT IS no longer just "peace" or even true peace, but so much more. It is strength for the journey. It is fire. It is love. And it is in returning and in rest that we are saved.

On the Intercession of Our Lady

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 03:05:51 GMT

THESE WORDS ARE just as true, wonderful and efficacious as they were when I first prayed them a few years ago:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known
that any one who fled to thy protection,
implored thy help,
and sought thy intercession,
was left unaided.

Inspired with this confidence,
I fly unto thee,
O Virgin of virgins, my Mother,
to thee I come,
before thee I stand sinful and sorrowful.

O Mother of the Word Incarnate!
despise not my petitions,
but, in thy mercy, hear and answer me. Amen.

On St. Teresa of Avila

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 03:32:27 GMT

I'VE FINISHED RE-READING The Autobiography of St. Teresa of Avila last week. This just further continues my re-education in the lives and thoughts of the Western Christian Mysticism.

HERS WAS TRULY the first work on mysticism that I read. This was shortly after I had (what I believe to be) my calling experience at Chrysalis, the Charismatic experience that followed a month later and my quasi-forced dwindling participation at the Church in which I was raised. I think I remember finding out about St. Teresa of Avila by Googling the charismatic gifts in Church History or something similar. Her name kept popping up. At the time, I do remember talking to a friend about it, saying, "Well, she talks like a Charismatic and walks like a Charismatic, why don't I read her?" I remember her agreeing and saying that I should.

I REMEMBER THE first thing that struck me about her autobiography was the relief I felt. Here was someone -- much saintlier than I -- who actually experienced things when they prayed. I'm sure that this requires some explanation: I grew up in a very un-emotional downtown church. Even though it had Baptist on its name, it was part of the American Baptist Churches, USA; as a main-line denomination, it would have more in common in ethos with the Presbyterian Church (now PCA) down the street than the Southern Baptist Church in the north of town. Yes, there were tears at the altar calls and one was expected to "feel" the Lord down in your soul, but it was never taken to the excess that other Baptists did.

SO, I HAD no context for anything like what happened at Chrysalis and the months following. Unfortunately, many at the Church did not either (I'm sure I was not the most Christlike at the time about it, too). St. Teresa of Avila was my one context for what I had experienced. You can't read her Autobiography without finding at least one vision of Our Lord (something which, I've never experienced) on any given page or some grace given to her in prayer. The whole book goes on and on and on like this. Anything I have experienced was mild, to put it in the strongest terms. She was misunderstood by her confessors; I was misunderstood by those who were closest to me at the Church. And the Romans revere her as a Saint! I felt relief, therefore, that perhaps I wasn't crazy; what I experienced wasn't a curse or something to misunderstand, but a gift to be cherished. I have treated it like that ever since.

SEVEN YEARS LATER, I returned to this book to reacquaint myself with the deep well that is Western Mysticism; to return to all those Saints on whose shoulders I now stand. This time through, the spectacular-ness of her visions faded and the firm teaching impressed upon me more and more. Especially the comparison of the four levels of prayer to gathering water:

"Let us now see how this garden is to be watered, that we may understand what we have to do: how much trouble it will cost us, whether the gain be greater than the trouble, or how long a time it will take us. It seems to me that the garden may be watered in four ways: by water taken out of a well, which is very laborious; or with water raised by means of an engine and buckets, drawn by a windlass—I have drawn it this way sometimes—it is a less troublesome way than the first, and gives more water; or by a stream or brook, whereby the garden is watered in a much better way—for the soil is more thoroughly saturated, and there is no necessity to water it so often, and the labour of the gardener is much less; or by showers of rain, when our Lord Himself waters it, without labour on our part—and this way is incomparably better than all the others of which I have spoken."

Now that I'm older (and perhaps a little wiser), I no longer obsess about which level I'm at or if I'm making progress in prayer, etc. Now, I simply appreciate it as truth and see what I can glean from it. I've known and felt all four at various times in my life -- sometimes occurring at the same time.

O MY, I just realized that this doesn't have a point, per se. I think I'm okay with that.

On Heaven...

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 05:12:50 GMT

I THOUGHT ABOUT heaven earlier. Of course, it isn't uncommon for a Christian to think about the next life, but some of you might think it odd for an Episcopalian to think about it. Most Episcopalians come from other denominations where heaven-talk is predominant, where the hymns are littered with phrases like "we'll meet on that beautiful shore" or "when the roll is called up yonder" and talk of "meeting our Lord in the air." Perhaps in reaction to that, we don't talk about it too much, though I'm sure that many of us think about it.

IN ALL HONESTY, I don't think about heaven entirely too much. Perhaps the psychological need for it is no longer there because I receive my Lord at every Mass. Perhaps a good sacramental theology takes away the need to talk incessantly about the afterlife -- why talk about paradise when we have a foretaste of it at every Mass? Why talk about seeing our Lord face-to-face, when we have a "faith that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil." I'm sure this is reading entirely more snobby than I intend it to. But why should we talk over and over about having a real, physical union with Our Lord in the hereafter (which we all agree is surely the best part of heaven), when we have it at every time we received Eucharist?

BUT, I DO think about heaven, still. I think about how there I won't have any concern but to adore my Lord for ages and ages. I won't worry about whether my '92 Cutlass Sierra will hold up or wonder about bills. I won't even wonder if my singing is on pitch, in time or if I'm communicating my consonants correctly. I won't think about the phrase "the earth, our fragile island home" as "the vast expanse of interstellar galaxies" adore along right beside me in the marriage supper of the lamb. Even the sins which so easily distract me from God will no longer be a thought, but perhaps only a praise of a long-forgotten idea. "All shall be well, all shall be well and the manner of all thing shall be well [sic]."

SPEAKING OF HER, St. Julian wrote about how in heaven, Christ will introduce us all to each other and mention the things we did for Him. There, she wrote, we will delight completely in the the Lord. He, in turn, will delight in our delight of Him. We will spend all of eternity delighting in each other. There, I will be so focused on the mystery of the Trinity that all other thoughts -- yes, perhaps, even awareness of self -- will melt in the fire of love. There in paradise, I will finally be able to behold and love completely that which I see darkly and so seldom love -- my delight will be completely in Him. And He will continue to love us with the love that has sustained us since we were created.

HEAVEN IS NOT great because we will be around "streets of gold" or there will be "not parting there". No, heaven is great because we will return -- for the first time -- back to Him who created us, sustained and loved us. Heaven is not great because of what we experience -- no matter how ecstatic. No, heaven is great because we will know all our beginning and ending in Him in a way that we only catch but the fleeting glimpse on earth. As St. Teresa wrote, we will be like a drop of water in a river - we cannot tell where we end and where He begins.

HEAVEN IS GREAT because of Christ who brings us fully into Himself. And it is marvelous in our eyes.

OF COURSE, THIS is what we experience every time we take Eucharist, whether we realize it or not.

On Another Sermon

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 03:11:57 GMT

I PREACHED AT my local parish of St. John's Episcopal on Sunday. This is mainly due in large part that I am now an intern for the Church, doing a few hours of work each week, mainly centered around working around our Newcomer's ministry. We've had a huge influx of visitors in the last 6 months and it is only increasing more that school has started. This is truly a work of the Holy Spirit!

I'M WORKING ON setting up what I call the straight and narrow way that takes visitors from filling out a visitors' card all the way to Baptism/Confirmation/Membership. Of course, we're Episcopalians, so you're welcome to get off the path at any time. My first step is to set up a guild of clandestine greeters who will purposefully go up to visitors, introduce themselves, be their guide for the first two or three weeks and help incorporate them into life at Church. I've already have had plenty of volunteers for this, too. This is truly a work of the Holy Spirit! I'm trying to find some obscure saint of hospitality for their namesake. Of course, The Guild of St. Etheldreda just doesn't sound right, does it?

ANYWAY, THE TEXT of the sermon was Mark 7:24-37. I specifically focused on the deaf/mute man and Christ's command of ephphatha. I was lost for the majority of my time of Lectio and organizing, until I read a sermon of St. Ambrose, where he spoke about how ephphatha was spoken to the man's heart, along with his deaf ears. Suddenly, it all made sense to me (this is surely a work of the Holy Spirit)!

A SUMMARY: CHRIST'S command of ephphatha was spoken not only to this man's deaf ears, to his closed heart, but also to the Jew/Gentile situation. Not only are we made right with God through Christ (open heart) but also with each other through Christ. Christ still speaks ephphatha to us every Sunday in the Sacrament of the Altar and we are changed.

On Labor Day

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:29:18 GMT

(Note: We'll return to the Sanctus series soon enough. There really is a second part to it! Until then, here is the Collect for Labor Day from The Book of Common Prayer ('79). The painting above, by the way is by one of my favorite painters, Salvador Dali: it is based on Millet's Angleus, which haunted him for a long time. I'm celebrating Labor Day by working at work, for what I hope is a time-and-a-half wage! )

Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives: So guide us in the work we do, that we may do it not for self alone, but for the common good; and, as we seek a proper return for our own labor, make us mindful of the rightful aspirations of other workers, and arouse our concern for those who are out of work; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.