Relationships – SSJE: Recent Episodes
Relationships – SSJE
Br. Curtis Almquist
The Dormition of Saint Mary the Virgin, Mother of Our Lord Jesus Christ
Galatians 4:4-7
Luke 1:46-55
We find nothing in the Bible about the Dormition of the Blessed Virgin Mary, whom we celebrate today. The word “dormition” is from the Latin, dormitio, from which comes the English word “dormitory.” Dormitio is the act of sleeping.[i] Since the early centuries, this is how the church has remembered the death of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She simply “fell asleep” and was miraculously taken up into heaven. Mary has been heralded the saint of the saints: her death as mysterious as the birth she gave to Jesus.
If you were raised in an Eastern Orthodox or Roman Catholic tradition, today’s celebration will likely be familiar and comforting. If you come from a Protestant tradition, or no church tradition, today’s celebration may be quite foreign, perhaps quite inviting. There is an “assumption” of meaning around Mary which has grown through the centuries, where many have found Mary’s life story worthy of veneration, and a channel of help and hope. Over the centuries the Blessed Virgin Mary’s importance has grown for two reasons: because of recollection and because of revelation.
The church’s recollection traces back to the ancient predictions about the long-awaited Messiah. Centuries prior to Jesus’ birth, Isaiah had prophesied: “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”[ii] But this does not fit Jesus’ pedigree. Jesus was born without title. Neither were his mother Mary nor his “stepfather,” Joseph, of noble lineage. Jesus’ birth to Mary would not only have been a disappointment to some, she could have been a scandal. Mary is a peasant, and she is unmarried. Mary clearly knows this. When she received the announcement from the angel Gabriel that she was to bear the Christ child, Mary was both afraid and incredulous. “How can this be?” she cries out.
Mary would have known the ancient Messianic prophesies about the greatness of the long-awaited Messiah. But no, she learns that the Messiah was not going to appear on the horizon, a fully formed and fully empowered adult with regal authority. The angel Gabriel’s announcement was that the Messiah would be born to Mary as an infant. “How can this be?” she asks. I can only imagine this same question revisiting Mary as her child, Jesus, grew into adolescence and manhood: “How can this be?” Jesus was about 30 years old before he publicly showed signs that he was, indeed, the Messiah. Thirty years for a mother watching and waiting, and perhaps worrying. “How can this be?” was surely a question that kept visiting both Mary and Jesus as he grew up.
And it also took the church several centuries to recollect, that is, to make sense of what had been prophesied about the coming Messiah, what then had been revealed to Mary and Joseph, and what had finally come of Jesus: his birth, his death, his resurrection, his parting gift of the Holy Spirit, and his ascension to heaven. Momentarily we will repeat what the church concluded in the 4th century as we confess the Nicene Creed.
Down through the ages, the church has imagined Mary cuddling Jesus as an infant, observing Jesus as he grew up, holding Jesus’ slain body as an adult – Michelangelo’s Pietà[iii] – then imagining Mary’s being received into the heavens, taken into the arms of Jesus. An ancient Greek title given the Blessed Virgin Mary is Theotokos, translated as “Mother of God,” or “Godbearer.” Jesus, in his humanity, is Mary’s son; Jesus, in his divinity, is Mary’s Savior. I’m calling this the fruit of recollection, how the church has recollected the lives of both Jesus and Mary.
Alongside this recollection of Mary has also been the revelation of Mary: how the Blessed Virgin Mary has been seen, heard, and experienced down through the centuries, throughout the world. Mary’s appearances have been just as mysterious and miraculous as her own conception of Jesus. One’s imagination cannot stretch too far concerning Mary, when our starting point is at the announcement of the Angel Gabriel that the most unimaginable event would happen with and through Mary.
In the Anglican tradition, the Blessed Virgin Mary is always in relationship to Jesus. She does not stand alone. You may find in Mary an invitation to an enlarged relationship with Jesus which includes his mother. Mary will not get in the way. She will point to the way, Jesus.[iv] You may find the Blessed Virgin Mary’s companionship a real grace in your experience of life and in your practice of prayer.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you.Blessed are you among womenand blessed is the fruit of your women, Jesus.Holy Mary, Mother of God:Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.[v]
i] The Eastern Orthodox Churches have continued to call this day of remembrance “The Dormition of the Mother of God.” Since the late Middle Ages, the Roman Catholic Church has called today’s remembrance “The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven.”
[ii] Isaiah 9:6. Isaiah chapters 1-39 are thought to have been written by the prophet Isaiah in the 8th century bce.
[iii] La Pietà is a marble sculpture by Michelangelo (1475-1564) of Mary holding Jesus’ slain body at Golgotha.
[iv] Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.…” John 14:6.
[v] From the “Angelus,” Latin for “angel,” a devotion named for the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary, “The Annunciation.” The “Angelus” commemorates Christ’s becoming human – his Incarnation – and is prayed aloud in the SSJE chapel twice every day.
Matthew 13:54-58
Today’s Gospel lesson isn’t about Jesus.
Rather, it’s not about the Jesus we have come to know, to accompany in his ministry with the disciples. Instead, it’s about another Jesus, one of memory, of presumption, and of misplaced expectation.
In the Rule of our Society, we understand as part of the practice of silence the honoring of “the mystery present in the hearts of our brothers and sisters, strangers and enemies,” a letting go of “curiosity, presumption, and condemnation which pretends to penetrate the mystery of their hearts.”[1]
We can see in our Gospel reading today what this looks like in practice. It is significant, I think, that the only references to Jesus’s “hidden years”—those years of growth and formation between infancy and baptism—in Matthew’s gospel (and Mark’s) is this brief encounter between Jesus and those from his hometown. It’s a relic of a silent period, a family photograph held in the hands of these people, who glance uncomprehendingly between it and the living Jesus standing before them.
Is it any surprise that Jesus “did not do many deeds of power there” (Mt 13:58)? All those who have come to Jesus for healing have done so with the hope and expectation that he will be able to effect their transformation, that he will indeed have power to save them. These individuals from Jesus’s hometown instead hold this still family photograph in their hands, between them and the living Jesus. They expect them to match, and they’re surprised when they don’t. But their mistake is taking as real the image in the photograph.
Each of us has likely experienced this in our own lives. Reunions or weddings or funerals: all bring together memories and presumptions and misplaced expectations about who we are and who we were. My twentieth high school reunion is this year—I am acutely aware not only of the images, the still photographs, of people from my past that I carry with me, but also about those of me that they carry with them. Neither are real.
And each of us similarly carries an image of Jesus. Something from our childhood formation, something from our fear or anger, something that we hold out in front of us and that blocks us from an immediate, fresh encounter with the living Lord. Something that keeps us from being surprised by joy in that fresh encounter.
What is that image for you?
Just as in silence we honor the mystery at the heart of our brothers and sisters, so too in prayer we honor the mystery at the heart of God, letting go of that image, lowering the still photograph and allowing God to reveal Godself to us in new and surprising and, perhaps, unsettling ways. Know that this is the living God, speaking in our hearts, powerful to save.
Amen.
[1] The Rule of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist (Lanham, MD, 1997), 54.
Br. Curtis Almquist
Deuteronomy 10:17-21
“For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt…”
The Book of Common Prayer remembers today as Independence Day which, indeed it is from an historical standpoint: the colonies’ independence from English rule. However, The Book of Common Prayer qualifies in our opening prayer the nature of our country’s independence. We prayed: “Grant that we and all the people of this land may have grace to maintain our liberties in righteousness and peace….”
Righteousness is relational. Righteousness is making relationships right and of keeping relationships right: right relationships between individuals, between groups – racial groups, cultural groups, political groups, religious groups – and between nations, all of which makes for righteous living before God, the Creator of all. Righteousness is about right relationships. We pray for “righteousness” and we pray for “peace.” Peace is not merely the absence of fighting. Peace without justice is simply handcuffing people and terrorizing them to be mute. Peace can only come from equal justice for all. So we pray that we be emissaries of righteousness and peace.
We celebrate our nation’s Independence Day not as a narcissistic, or nationalistic, or nihilistic freedom from other people or other nations. We celebrate our freedoms for what we can do to make for righteousness and peace for others. We read in our lesson from the Book of Deuteronomy: “For the Lord your God… is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger….”
Several days ago I was talking with a father who said, “As a parent, you can only be as happy as your least happy child.” I’m thinking about that wisdom in conjunction with today’s Fourth of July celebration: that amidst our celebration today with parades, and fireworks, and fun food, we also carry the resolve of helping to enable life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all others: to make the reason for today’s celebration equally accessible to the least, and the last, and the lost in our land, which is only just.
Br. Curtis Almquist
Psalm 72: 7-8, 12-15, 17
If you have occasion to study a tapestry or quilt, where you can view both the front side and the back side, you often discover that though the front side may be more beautiful, the back side is more instructive and shows all the quite-hidden work that has enabled what is presented on the front side. That is a fact of life.
There is a word which surfaces in the Psalm we prayed a moment ago. This same word appears many times elsewhere in the psalter: pity.[i] The word “pity” comes from the same etymological root as our word “piety.” Pity is a holy compassion, and it begins with God’s piety. The psalmist cries out:
Have pity on me, Lord, for I am weak;heal me, Lord, for my bones are racked.[ii]The psalmist also proclaims:
[God]shall have pity on the lowly and poor[and]shall preserve the lives of the needy.[iii]
Isn’t it so reassuring that God, as the master weaver, knows us: knows what we present “up front,” and knows from whence it all comes, our “back side.” Isn’t it comforting that God who created us, calls us, uses us, is thankful for us, knows us well, pities us with a loving compassion.
Today we remember our departed Brothers of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist who, over the years, died in the month of May. We cherish these archival memories of our predecessors. God took pity on them, the complex and sometimes-tangled threads of their lives, and wove into them such amazing, distinctive, colorful, often complex and beautiful lives. We remember these departed Brothers both with amazement and with gratitude. We also remember how they give witness to God who looks on us all with such loving pity, and with such promise.
[i]For example, Psalm 9:13; 17:10; 25:15; 26:11; 72:13; 109:11.
[ii] Psalm 6:2.
[iii] Psalm 72:13.
John 10:11-18
Acts 4:5-12
1 John 3:16-24
Psalm 23
I’ve been thinking this week a lot about a guy named Paul.
Probably not the one you’re thinking of.
He lived about fifteen hundred years ago, somewhere in the eastern Mediterranean.
We know that this Paul, this specific Paul, lived. And we know absolutely nothing else about him.
But we can even know this much because his name appears on a small lead seal, about the size of a quarter.[1] I worked for over a decade with seals like Paul’s.[2] Although they literally sealed, secured correspondence, they also served like an email signature, including information like titles, jobs, devotions, city of origin. Whatever a sender thought was important to signal about themselves, to make themselves known. Or they just included their names, like “Paul.” And that’s it.
Much of my work, effectively, was doing my best to distinguish one Paul from another.
But this work was so rewarding, because that object, and the name that went along with it, are often the only evidence we have that this person lived, the barest glimpse into a life that may have been as rich, in its own way, as our own.
I cannot know this Paul in any meaningful way. And this gap—that he lived and loved and died and I can know almost nothing about him—really brings home to me what Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and they know me” (Jn 10:14). Even when no one else does, when no one else can, I know my own and I call them each by their name.[3] I call you by your name, your proper name, unique to you, capturing all the textures and contours and colors that define you as fully yourself.
Think about a friend or family member whom you would say knows you. Perhaps they know you with the knowing that comes from decades of partnership, from countless hours of conversation and companionship, from shared interests or hobbies or pursuits.
Think about what they know about you. How they know you.
Now—what don’t they know? What can’t they know, about you, about your innermost self? What desires and needs are unexpressed, what fears or joys unvoiced? How does your proper name, this sign of your unique, irreplaceable self, resonate in your own heart’s chamber? With what richness does it echo back to you the fullness that is you?
Jesus, the good shepherd, knows you this way.
Jesus, the good shepherd, hears the echo of your proper name in your heart’s chamber, and answers.
The psalmist’s familiar, beloved words invite us into this relationship of being perfectly known, of our fears, desires, and needs being perfectly known and answered: “I shall not be in want,” “I shall fear no evil,” “my cup is running over.” Others in this world can only know us partially, incompletely—and long after we have departed this world, it may only know our names, and maybe not even that. In some distant future, when the world forgets our lives and loves and even names, we are assured that our shepherd does not forget us—that we will “dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”
Isn’t this comforting? Wherever we are on our life’s journey—isn’t it comforting to know that we are known more fully, more completely, more profoundly than we can know even ourselves? That our name, in all its complexity, is heard? And that we are called by that name?
This is all very comforting. But it is also very individual. “The Lord is my shepherd,” “he revives my soul,” “I shall fear no evil.” What Jesus reveals to us today is not about individuals. Unlike Luke’s parable of the lost sheep, Jesus is not speaking singularly here—“sheep” is always plural, and the singular usage, alongside “shepherd,” is a collective one: “there will be one flock” (Jn 10:16)
God does know us, individually, fully. Knows us and calls us by our name. But the point is who we are to and with each other—how we are made one in Christ. One flock. One people. One family.
This word “family” has been used by the author of Acts: among those Jerusalem authorities are “all who were of the high-priestly family” (Acts 4:6). Against them are arrayed the imprisoned apostles, themselves a family. Made a family by their relationship with Jesus Christ, the cornerstone in their own arch. Made a family by the Holy Spirit, given to them at Pentecost. And made a family by their own love and care for one another, by their loving actions: “if we are questioned today because of a good deed done to someone who was sick,” Peter begins (Acts 4:9). “Little children,” says the first letter of John, “let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” (1 Jn 3:18). We show that we belong to the family of God by belief and action.
And if we are made a family in Christ, so he gives us a family name. Not a name like Smith or Jones, though. Instead, a family name that reveals what matters, what defines us as followers of Christ. A name that reveals the textures and contours and colors of the life in Christ. A name like “Loves one another,” “Does good for another,” “Believes in the name of Jesus,” and “Lays down their life for another.” A name that allows us to be known, and to know each other, more precisely, more immediately, more fully.
This is a family name that we can claim. One that we are called to claim, commanded to claim: “And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another” (1 Jn 3:23). And, like the apostles, this is a family name that allows us—no, invites us—to know especially those whose names we don’t know, whose names we might not even want to know.
Something new happened about a thousand years ago on lead seals like Paul’s. Alongside those that include the standard names and titles and jobs appears a small group that are anonymous. Instead of a name, a short poem appears: “Know whose seal I am by looking at the letter.”[4] It’s not Shakespeare, but it does point to something new. These letters don’t survive, so we don’t even know a simple name. Have we lost even this barest glimpse of a past life? Perhaps. The letter and name may be gone, but the invitation, the intention, survives. An invitation to discover our kinship with someone who will always be anonymous to us, yet fully known to God.
What part of your name, resonating in your heart, do you desire to make known, to be heard? How can you invite others to look into the letter of your heart and read your name written there?
The good shepherd knows us. Knows us and calls us each by name. The good shepherd forges us into a family, a flock. It’s up to us to get to know our fellow sheep.
Amen.
[1] Seal of Paul (sixth century), BZS.1947.2.1577, Dumbarton Oaks, Coins and Seals Collection, Washington, DC. https://www.doaks.org/resources/seals/byzantine-seals/BZS.1947.2.1577 (accessed April 21, 2024).
[2] May Wang, “Behind the Scenes: Cataloguing our Byzantine Seals,” The Oaks News, Dumbarton Oaks, June 29, 2021. https://www.doaks.org/newsletter/news-archives/2021/behind-the-scenes-cataloguing-our-byzantine-seals (accessed April 21, 2024).
[3] Paraphrase of the Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Easter: “Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads.”
[4] For example, Anonymous (eleventh century), BZS.1947.2.1439, Dumbarton Oaks, Coins and Seals Collection, Washington, DC. https://www.doaks.org/resources/seals/byzantine-seals/BZS.1947.2.1439 (accessed April 21, 2024). There are several variations on this inscription. The classic study is N. Oikonomides, “The Anonymous Seal,” Studies in Byzantine Sigillography 4 (1995): 71-79.
Br. Jack Crowley
Exodus 32:7-14
Psalm 106:6-7, 19-23
Moses was the star of the show this morning. The hero who stood in the breach defending his people from God’s wrath. I can’t imagine how Moses must have felt, walking down Mount Sinai with two stone tablets in hand, being verbally interrupted by God to find out his people had turned astray.
One of the many things I love about Moses was his verbal relationship with God. I use that word verbal intentionally. Moses and God had a lot of conversations. Starting from being called from the burning bush on Mount Horeb, all the way to Moses’ last moments on Mount Nebo with God lovingly telling Moses how his people would reach the promised land. Moses and God had this beautiful back and forth verbal relationship that blossomed over time.
These conversations were not always easy. Moses had the courage to speak to God truthfully, but Moses also had the stamina to listen to what God had to say – even when God was angry. Moses grew from being a man too afraid to speak to Pharaoh directly, even though God directly told Moses to do so, to being a man who verbally defended his people straight to God’s face.
Culturally we live in a time in which conversing with God is understandably viewed with suspicion. Say for example I were to tell you that I was going on a hiking retreat in the White Mountains. You’d probably say something like oh great, have fun! Now say for example I were to tell you that I was going to climb Mount Washington in order to have a conversation with God. You’d probably say something like oh, are you doing ok?
Of the many things we can learn from Moses, one of the most important is that being on speaking terms with God is a good practice. Being on speaking terms with God is a good practice because at some point things are going to get real. Things are going to get real and each of us, like Moses, will have an opportunity to stand in breach and have it out with God.
We don’t know when these moments will come. We can’t predict when bushes will burn or when we will come home to golden calves being cast, but we do know they will happen. When those moments do come, if you already have a relationship with God, things will be easier.
Matthew 18:21-35
If you came here tonight expecting some lighthearted readings, I’m sorry to disappoint. You know things are serious when Jesus starts using words like prison and torture. So, what’s the cause of such gravity?
Forgiveness. Jesus is talking about forgiveness. In our Gospel tonight, Jesus frames forgiveness in serious and powerful tones.
We know the power of forgiveness. We know this already in our hearts. We know what an amazing feeling it is to forgive and be forgiven. We know those awesome moments of reconciliation when friends heal rifts and grow stronger.
We also all know the power of resentments. Resentments have the power to strangle moments of joy out of our lives. Resentments have the power to keep us up at night, fuming in our beds. Resentments have the power to harden our hearts and make us into people we don’t want to be.
Jesus knew human nature. He knew how much power forgiveness and resentments have in us. He knew our tendency towards resentment. He knew our resistance to forgiveness.
How could he not? Jesus lived surrounded by resentments. The people all around Jesus, even those closest to him, were filled with resentments. They were fighting all the time. Jesus himself was the target of many resentments, all the way to the crucifixion.
Jesus knew human nature and he knew what was good for us. Forgiveness.
“Seventy-seven times” was Jesus’ famous answer when Peter asked Jesus how many times he must forgive another member of the church for sinning against him. Seventy-seven times, or in other words, all the time, every day, constantly.
I love imagining Peter’s face hearing Jesus’ answer. I imagine the blood rushing out of of Peter’s face into his heart when he realized he wasn’t going to get a concrete answer. What a feeling that must have been for Peter to suddenly understand that forgiveness was not going to be a check-off-the-box exercise.
I’m sure we’ve all been there before. Those come to Jesus moments when we were trying our best to forgive a resentment and realize it was going to take a lot more work than we thought. Lord knows I’ve been there! It’s a humbling feeling coming to know that our resentments are much stronger than we realized. It’s a humbling feeling knowing we are going to need God’s help in our movement towards forgiveness.
So where do we start? How do we practice forgiveness in the midst of resentment?
Start by owning your resentments. Own your resentments and own up to your resentments. Don’t deny them, they are perfectly natural, but don’t let them fester. Bring your resentments out to the light for God to see.
From there, try being like Peter and move toward Jesus. Move toward Jesus with a hope of understanding how to practice forgiveness in your life. If you were to have an honest conversation with Jesus about your practice of forgiveness, how would it go?
Jesus’ advice to Peter emphasized the constant movement towards forgiveness. We must be proactive in having a forgiving attitude rather than just waiting to play defense against resentments. Obviously, this is easier said than done, but it is worth it.
Consider if you were to spend the rest of your life being as resentful or as forgiving as you are right now. Would you die happy? If the answer is no, move towards forgiveness.
Finally consider how serious Jesus was about forgiveness. What would it look like in your life if you were to take forgiveness as seriously as Jesus took forgiveness? Ask yourself that question not with a spirit of shame, but with a spirit of hope. Hope that we can practice forgiveness in the midst of resentment.
Br. Curtis Almquist
Mark 3:13-19, 31-35
The scene captured in this Gospel passage does not typically show up in beautiful stained glass windows in churches. This is a troubling scene. In the family system it is a rough day for Jesus, his siblings, and his mother, Mary.[i]
Here is the back story. Away on a mountaintop Jesus had just appointed his twelve apostles, and then he returned to Nazareth, which is the setting for this Gospel lesson.[ii] A considerable crowd has surrounded Jesus outside his family’s home as he teaches. There is very mixed energy in the crowd. Jesus’ mother and his brothers must have been inside their home, because the Gospel of Mark reports they then go outside and send word through the crowd for Jesus. Why? Is it so they can stand with Jesus and give their public assent to his teaching? No. Does his family want to protect Jesus? No. We read the family makes their appearance to restrain Jesus.[iii] The verb used here to describe their reaction to Jesus literally means “he is out of his mind” or “he has gone mad!”[iv] What we witness is an attempt at a family intervention.
The terse situation seems only to escalate when we hear Jesus’ reaction to the report that his family has appeared on the outskirts of the crowd. Jesus seems to respond rhetorically or dismissively: “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking at those who sat around him, Jesus says, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”
The Gospel of Matthew, Mark, and Luke remember this charged scene almost verbatim. The Gospel according to John does not remember this encounter; however John refers to a strain in Jesus’ relationships – a strain not with Jesus’ apostles but with his own siblings. His brothers seem exasperated with Jesus, what he was doing, and saying, and where. We read in the Gospel according to John, “For not even his brothers believed in him.”[v]
So back to the crowd surrounding Jesus outside of his family home. We can interpret what’s going here from three different vantage points: from the perspective of the crowd, from the perspective of the family, and from the perspective of Jesus.
The constituency of the crowd covers the whole spectrum: ranging from those who are convinced Jesus is the Messiah, to those convinced he is the devil incarnate, and with many people in between those opposite poles. As we know, in the end Jesus is abandoned by the constituency: virtually everyone – friend and foe alike.
From the perspective of Jesus’ brothers, this is a tough go. What was it like to grow up with Jesus as their older brother? They surely would have known all along of the prophesies and stories about Jesus’ very inexplicable birth and his predicted destiny. They, like Jesus, may have been targets of teasing, or ridicule, or judgment over the years, the decades: the mockery about their mother and Jesus’ so-called “virgin birth”; the mockery about Jesus, especially when he who was supposed to be so special had not delivered on the prophesies. Even by his late 20s, Jesus was not getting on with it… except for now… however now he is not showing family deference to either his mother nor his brothers. I am constructing this scenario from the limited information we have. I think Jesus’ family had to do a lot of explaining about him during the silent years, the decades where there is no scriptural or historical record. It was not only his mother but also his brothers who were asking the rhetorical question, “How can this be?” as they tried to make sense out of Jesus’ life.[vi] Did Jesus seem withdrawn? Did he seem brilliant? Was he weird? We don’t know.
And who knows how it was for Mary, Jesus’ mother? How did she understand Jesus as he grew up and finally, finally found his voice? The Gospel according to Luke remembers back to Mary’s receiving the prophecy about the child-Messiah she would bring into the world: how costly this would be for both Jesus and for her, personally. The prediction was that a “sword” would pierce both Mary’s and Jesus’ souls.[vii] I suspect this “sword” pierced Mary’s soul while Jesus was still in his infancy, as early as when Joseph had fled with Mary and Jesus into Egypt to escape the slaughter of young children by King Herod. Jesus was spared his life but, but neither Jesus nor Mary were spared the trauma. I imagine the sword pierced Mary’s soul repeatedly, a wound that never healed, the pietà she had experienced all her life.[viii]
The third perspective in his Gospel scene is Jesus’ own perspective. What did he see and sense is going on with this crowd and with his family? Why does he respond as he does about who his mother and brothers really are? His family would have every reason to feel excluded when Jesus publicly claims that his “family” is neither his mother Mary nor his brothers but rather everyone who does God’s will. Can you imagine his brothers’ indignation? “After everything we have been through because of Jesus, and he won’t even claim us as his family…” Jesus’ family may have felt publicly shamed. But from Jesus’ perspective, he is not speaking about exclusion but rather inclusion. Everyone belongs. Everyone has a place in the heart of God whom he calls “Father.” In the Gospels, Jesus never speaks of Joseph as his Father. Jesus would eventually teach a prayer that begins “Our Father in heaven…” Jesus would eventually teach about sharing his body and blood, not just with his bloodline – his family of origin – but with everyone. Saint Paul, a generation later, would take Jesus’ teaching about belonging to the next level, speaking metaphorically of Jesus’ followers being like different members of one body: like eyes, hands, mouths, feet all belonging to one body.[ix] Saint Paul even uses “adoption” language: we all belong to the family of Christ; we are “children by adoption.”[x] Children by adoption.
We have many unanswered questions from this particular Gospel account. Here is where we can claim good news amidst this complicated interaction in Nazareth with Jesus’ family, friends, and foes.
We have here a picture of Jesus being “fully human,” as we say in the Creeds. His full humanity is on full display here in such a vulnerable and exposing way. The comfort we may claim from this passage is that Jesus understands. Understands you. However complicated your life, however unfair you may feel your life to be, however misunderstood or abandoned or judged or orphaned you may some days find yourself to be, Jesus understands. Jesus knows what it is like to play the cards you have been handed in life. Jesus, a very real human being whom we remember as our Messiah. Jesus understands. Understands you, because he’s been there.
One of the greatest comforts in life is being in the presence of someone whom we know loves us, and who understands us, and who gently asks us the question, “How are you?” “How are you, really?” I imagine all of us know about this kind of experience when someone who is safe and understanding makes time in their day and space in their heart to ask us the question, “How are you, really?” That tender question is Jesus’ question for all of us, individually. Our response is our prayer.
[i] The Gospel accounts for this scene are virtually identical in Mark 3:3-35, Matthew 12:46-50, and Luke 7:19-21. Where is Joseph? Was he simply away for the day; was he already dead; or were the Gospel writers trying to protect the Virgin birth and Joseph not being Jesus’ father? We don’t know.
[ii] Mark 3:13-19.
[iii] Mark 3:19b-21.
[iv] From Mark 3:21in Interpretation – Mark; a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, by Lamar Williamson, Jr. (1983); pp. 83-84.
[v] Mark 3:21; John 7:2-5.
[vi] See Luke 1:26-38.
[vii] Luke 2:34-35.
[viii] Pietà, a painting or sculpture of the seated Virgin Mary holding the body of her dead son, Jesus, in her lap, the word from the Latin pietatem“piety, pity, faithfulness to natural ties.”
[ix] 1 Corinthians 12:12-27.
[x] Ephesians 1:5 – “[God] destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will….”
Feast of Richard Meux Benson
John 15:9-17
1 John 4:7-12
“You are my friends if you do what I command you.”
I’m struck today by this little word “if.” “You are my friends if.” When was the last time you said that to a friend? “You are my friend if you take my side.” ”You are my friend if you do what I say.”
But how often does this “if” go unspoken? “You are my friend,” we say, while thinking, “if you do what I expect, if you believe or read or vote the way I do.” How often do we find ourselves unconsciously closing the door on those who do not fulfill our unspoken ifs?
The founder of our Society, Richard Meux Benson, whom we celebrate today, had a dim view of friendship, in large part because of these ifs. He recognized that, in practice, earthly friendships are often divisive, based as they are on “certain idiosyncrasies which we may share in common, and which naturally . . . separate cliques from the rest of mankind.”[1] In short, he later wrote, “earthly friendships are apt to make us feel lonely both in their enjoyment and in their removal.”[2]
Life in community under Father Benson was lonely and often unfriendly. Father George Congreve later remembered that “no affectionate intercourse ever came to life among us.”[3]
But I think today, as we celebrate the life and witness of Father Benson, is an opportunity to hear him afresh. In this season after the Epiphany, we can see how friendship can make God manifest in the world. In particular, we can see how the conditionality of Jesus’s friendship invites us to practice unconditional love.
Think about a close friendship you’ve had. How did it begin? Was it something you held in common—an interest, a hobby, a cause, a value? We all yearn to connect, and it’s natural to connect based on what we have in common. But if we were to stop there, we fall victim to the accidents of group, of clique, of party, of tribe, that Benson condemns. We would be no more to each other than the isolated points that connect us.
But there is more. Because in friendship we discover the fully formed personhood of our friend. We encounter all that makes them themselves, unique and irreplaceable—the things that are like us, and the things that aren’t, the things about them we like and the things we don’t. We come to recognize that Christ dwells in them in all their individuality. They are their own world, and Christ dwells in all of it, not just our own points of commonality. Christ dwells in all that makes them them—and we come to love them for it.
And we can let this discovery of the fullness of others, and of Christ’s presence in all that fullness, invite us to find Christ in all others—and especially in those with whom we hold nothing in common, in those with whom we can’t imagine ourselves being friends. “We must love God in those whom God makes or calls to be the impersonations of [God’s] own loveliness,” Father Benson wrote, “and all . . . are formed in the image of God.”[4]
Friendship, then, is not just a sharing of idiosyncrasies or a catalogue of commonalities. Friendship is a training of our affections, an opening of our hearts, and an expanding of our capacity to love. Friendship invites us to love more and more—indeed, to love all—because we have come to love the fulness of our friends. And the more we love, the more we become like Christ: “If we love one another, God lives in us” (1 Jn 4:12).
But we are not God-filled islands on a map, partially isolated from others. We are nodes in a vast network, our connecting lines shining with the light of God made manifest. Our friendships allow us to love more fully and more widely, drawing new connections, making the network denser and denser, and allowing God to shine out all the brighter.
Allowing us to encounter God in those connections.
Allowing us to see that God is those connections, for God is love. “We must love one another,” Father Benson wrote, “with a love which looks beyond the grave and lives in the anticipation of that higher life, when all mere earthly ties shall have passed away,”[5] to a time when “separatedness will be gone [and] God will be all in all.”[6]
Amen.
[1] Richard Meux Benson to a Lady, July 30, 1878, in Further Letters of Richard Meux Benson (Oxford, 1920), 282-83.
[2] Letter CLXI: Richard Meux Benson to a Lady, July 20, 1901, in Letters of Richard Meux Benson (Oxford, 1916], 312
[3] L. Miller, A Life-Long Springtime: The Life and Teaching of Fr George Congreve SSJE (Durham, 2022), 40.
[4] Richard Meux Benson to a Lady, July 30, 1878, in Further Letters of Richard Meux Benson, 282-83.
[5] R. M. Benson, The Final Passover, vol. 2, pt 2 (London, 1895), 77.
[6] Richard Meux Benson to a Lady, July 30, 1878, in Further Letters of Richard Meux Benson, 283.
Br. Jim Woodrum
John 1:43-57
Psalm 139:1-5,12-17
During my middle school and high school years, my parents imparted valuable social skills that they believed would benefit me as I transitioned into adulthood. My mother specifically emphasized etiquette. For instance, when invited to someone’s house for dinner, it’s customary to wait for the host to signal the start of the meal, often indicated by them picking up their silverware first. Additionally, it’s essential to be mindful not to comment on someone else’s food, especially if it’s something you don’t personally like.
On the other hand, my dad underscored the importance of staying informed about current events, just in case you might be engaged in conversation with an elder. He also highlighted the significance of a firm handshake and holding doors for others—even if they’re a few paces behind you. Most crucially, he emphasized making eye contact when speaking to others for better connection, perceived honesty, mutual understanding, and respect.
All of these have served me well, although I admit that maintaining eye contact in conversations is difficult for me. I had always wondered why eye contact proved challenging until I was diagnosed with a neuro-difference about six years ago. For people who have ADHD (like me) or are on the Autism spectrum, maintaining eye contact can prove disconcerting.
Although I’ve worked hard throughout my life honing this skill, I actually find it distracting to maintain eye contact while sifting through an already distracted mind for the right words to articulate my thoughts. As I look into someone’s eyes while speaking, I am often filled with self-doubt rather than confidence. I ask myself, “Did I express that clearly? Did I use the right words to convey what I wanted to say? Can they see all the clutter in my head through the veneer of my eyes? Are they judging me?”
And then I hear myself say, “Wait, I’m sorry, could you repeat that last sentence again?”, too embarrassed to admit that I wasn’t fully present because I was absorbed with the voice of a negative self-image in my head.
In his book of neologisms entitled “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows,” author John Koenig defines his word opia as “the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye.” In an expanded essay on this noun, Koenig writes, “Eye contact isn’t really contact at all. It’s only ever a glance—a near-miss—that you can only feel as it slips past you. There’s so much that we keep in the back room; so much that other people never get to see. We only ever offer up a sample of who we are, of what we think people want us to be. You put yourself out there, trying to decide how much of the world to let in. It’s all too easy for others to size you up and carry on their way. They can see you more clearly than you ever could. Yours is the only vault you can’t see into, that you can’t size up in an instant. You’ll always have to wonder if someone might come along and peer into your soul. Or if anyone out there will put in the effort, trying to find the key.”[i]
In today’s reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus discovers Philip and calls him to follow. The details of their exchange are not explicitly mentioned, leaving us to wonder about the words Jesus used to convince Philip to abandon everything and seek out his friend Nathaniel, who was found alone meditating under a fig tree.
Philip excitedly declares to Nathaniel that they have found the one foretold by Moses in the law and the prophets: Jesus, the son of Joseph from Nazareth. Nathaniel’s response, however, reveals doubt, if not a hint of scorn, towards this news. It could be perceived as slightly amusing, if not outright sarcastic, as Nathaniel questions, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” It seems as if he dismisses the idea of an itinerant rabbi from a less esteemed background, considering Nazareth inferior to other towns in the region. Some scholars speculate that Nathaniel’s skepticism may stem from the absence of Nazareth as the Messiah’s prophesied birthplace.
Despite Nathaniel’s doubts, Philip persuades him to meet Jesus, leading to a moment of what can be described as ‘divine opia.’ It’s not a passing glance or a near miss, but a profound gaze into Nathaniel’s soul. As Jesus sees Nathaniel approaching, he exclaims, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” One can imagine Nathaniel’s eyes locked and frozen in Jesus’ adoring gaze. Nathaniel’s response indicates his surprise and speechlessness as he tries to grasp the grace-filled judgment of Jesus. Only a moment ago, Nathaniel had been dismissive of Philip’s testimony of Jesus. Bewildered, Nathaniel asks, “Where did you get to know me?”
Jesus reply, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you,” might seem mysterious to our modern mindset. But, in ancient Jewish thought, the fig tree was a symbol of peace and tranquility and was a setting for prayer and contemplation.[ii] Perhaps when Jesus saw Nathaniel under a fig tree he recalled the words of prophets like Micah: “Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid; for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.”[iii]
While Jesus had not known Nathaniel familiarly until that point, he recognized Nathaniel intimately as someone who exemplified a holy “etiquette” aligned with his mission of bringing about the Kingdom of God on earth and the reconciliation of all nations under God’s gracious rule. In turn, Nathaniel felt seen and understood in a way that he might not have experienced with anyone else. This encounter inspired him to exclaim, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”
Jesus responded, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these. Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” This reply echoes the story in Genesis where the patriarch Jacob falls asleep on a stone, dreams of a ladder extending from earth to heaven with angels ascending and descending, and has an encounter with God who assures Jacob of peace and prosperity.
When Jacob awakes, he declares, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it! And he was afraid, and said, ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.’” Similar to Jacob, Nathaniel had come face to face with God, and in Jesus, he saw the meeting of heaven and earth.[iv]
So, what can we take away from this account of “divine opia” between Jesus and Nathaniel? First, we can be assured that we are known and loved intimately by God. The story of Jesus’ and Nathaniel’s meeting is amplified in our Psalm this morning: “Lord, you have searched me out and known me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me. For you created my inmost parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. My body was not hidden from you while I was being made in secret and woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my limbs, yet unfinished in the womb; all of them were written in your book; they were fashioned day by day, when as yet there was none of them.” Through Philip, Jesus sought Nathaniel, held him in his gaze, and revealed something about Nathaniel’s self that not even Nathaniel knew. And, so it is for us. You, too, are sought by God through Jesus. God has created your inmost parts and knit you together in your mother’s womb. God desires to hold you in His gaze in hopes that you will return it. God wants you to know Him as He knows you, and it is in Jesus that this intimacy develops.
Secondly, because we are created in God’s image, we possess the ability to reflect God’s love, light, and provision to others. Unfortunately, we often maintain a surface-level connection with our neighbors when what we truly yearn for is intimacy. In this era, social media promises to bring us closer together, yet without face-to-face interactions, without gazing into each other’s eyes, we find ourselves increasingly isolated, contributing to an epidemic of loneliness.
Our longing for intimacy is often hindered by the fear of judgment, dismissal, and rejection. To cultivate intimacy with our neighbors, it is crucial to establish a safe space where difficult conversations can unfold in the light of God’s grace. As author Taylor Jenkins Reid eloquently put it: “People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can reveal yourself to them, when you stand in front of them exposed and their response is ‘you’re safe with me’—that’s intimacy.”[v]
God is revealing to us the path to the intimacy we crave with both God and one another. The key we need to open the vault is Jesus. In a few moments, we will witness heaven opening, with angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man during in the Eucharistic Rite. Come forward, join your hands, and receive Jesus, present in the bread and wine. Then, return Jesus’ adoring gaze and come to know him a little more fully as he knows you. Amen
Lectionary Year and Proper: Epiphany 2; Year B
[i] Koenig, J. (2021). The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Simon & Schuster.
[ii] Barclay, W. (1975). The Gospel of John (Vol. 1). Westminster Press.
[iii] Micah 4:3b-4
[iv] Genesis 28:10-17
[v] Reid, T. J. (2022). The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Blackstone Publishing.
Aelred of Rievaulx, Monastic and Theologian, 1167
We remember today, Aelred, the twelfth century abbot of the Cistercian monastery of Rievaulx in northern England, who died on this day in the year 1167. Aelred is most remembered for his writings on the gift of friendship, hence the marvelous collect that we once prayed on this day:
Pour into our hearts, O God, the Holy Spirit’s gift of love,that we, clasping each the other’s hand, may share the joyof friendship, human and divine, and with your servantAelred draw many into your community of love….
The gift of friendship, both human and divine, which we celebrate today, is perhaps one of the most debased gifts of our time, for we can friend any number of people, many of whom we have never met in person, with the click of a computer key. At the same time, we can un – friend them just as easily. People also speak of friends with benefits, or hook – ups, by which they mean people who enjoy physical intimacy, without the problem of emotional intimacy or commitment. Aelred, I think would be appalled by it all.
For Aelred, friendship was a sacrament of God’s love. It is a way, not the only way, but a way in which you and I can taste here and now the mystery of God’s love for us. God has not friended us with the mere click of a computer key, and nor will God un-friend us with the click of the same key. At the same time, God does not regard us simply as a friend with benefits without the complexity of emotional intimacy or commitment.
What many regard as friendship today, is not what Aelred wrote about, when he described friendship as the medicine of life for friendship, Aelred says, heightens the joy of prosperity and mitigates the sorrows of adversity by dividing and sharing them. Hence the best medicine in life is friendship.
It is only in true friendship that we can know and be known in ways that heal our sorrows and multiply our joys. Such friendship takes hard work and a level of emotional commitment not found solely on a keyboard. While a computer may help to nurture such a friendship over time and long distances, it cannot replace the face – time that true friendship requires to survive and thrive.
In the same way, God longs for face – time with us, not the cursory click of a keyboard, or the fleeting acknowledgement that often passes for prayer, or a friend with benefits relationship that carries with it no degree of emotional honesty, intimacy, or commitment. To paraphrase John, and Aelred, for God so loved us that he gave his Son that we, clasping each the other’s hands, human and divine, might be friends with one another, and our joys heightened, and our sorrows mitigated.
Br. Geoffrey Tristram
Sirach 48:1-11
Matthew 17:9-13
The prophet Elijah is one of the great figures of the Bible, and straddles both the Old and New Testaments. In our first reading today from the Book of Sirach, we have this great paeon of praise for Elijah: ‘How glorious you are Elijah in your wondrous deeds’. There is also a profound hope that he would come again, to prepare the way of the Lord. This hope grows through the Hebrew scriptures, and culminates in the very last verses of the Old Testament, in the Book of Malachi: ‘Lo I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.’ And to this day, when Jewish families celebrate Passover, they leave a place at the table for Elijah, and at one point a son goes to the front door to see if Elijah has come.
In our Gospel reading from Matthew, the disciples Peter, James and John are coming down the mountain having just experienced the glorious Transfiguration of Jesus. At the Transfiguration they saw Elijah, as well as Moses, who were talking with Jesus. As the disciples walked down the mountain they questioned Jesus about Elijah. They wanted to know why Elijah had not come earlier, as promised in scripture, preceding the coming of Jesus. Jesus told them that Elijah had already come, but that people did not recognize him. ‘Then the disciples understood that he was speaking to them about John the Baptist.’ John came preaching repentance and prepared the way for the promised Messiah. In this way, he was fulfilling the role of Elijah, but the religious leaders simply did not recognize him. They did not recognize him. The scriptures are full of this theme of failing to recognize the one who is in their midst; of not truly seeing; of spiritual blindness. Of course, Jesus’ enemies did not recognize who he was. Remember all those chapters in John’s Gospel, where the Pharisees keep asking him hostile questions about his identity. ‘Where are you from? Who is your family? How do you know so much – you’ve never been taught. You are not yet fifty; how have you seen Abraham?’ Finally, in chapter 8: 25 in exasperation, ‘Who are you?’ as the prologue to John puts it, ‘He was in the world, yet the world did not know him,’
But it was not just his enemies. Even his dear friends, after the Resurrection, did not recognize him. Mary Magdalene in the garden thought he was the gardener. His disciples fishing on the Sea of Galilee did not recognize the stranger on the shore. On the Road to Emmaus, as his friends spoke to him, they did not recognize that it was Jesus. They did not recognize Elijah or John the Baptist when they came. They did not recognize Jesus. But what about you and me? Do we always recognize Jesus when he comes to us? During this Advent season I am sure many of us are hoping, expecting, longing, to come to know Jesus in a new and wonderful way. What may be getting in the way of recognizing his presence in our lives?
I particularly love the story of the Road to Emmaus, because it is all about recognizing and not recognizing. Why on earth didn’t they recognize Jesus? It was a long walk and they must have been with him a long time. I think firstly, it is because they were not expecting him. They thought he was dead. Advent is a great time for us to renew our longing, our expectancy to see Jesus. ‘Come thou long expected Jesus.’ Help me to know your presence in my life, now. Secondly, they did not recognize Jesus because they were preoccupied. Their hearts and minds were full of questions, worries, sadness, fear and anxiety. Advent is an invitation to let go of our busy, non-stop preoccupations; to empty ourselves and make space for silence, for listening, for waiting, for prayer. ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ Then thirdly, it was only when they had invited Jesus into their home, to eat with them, it was only then, as he broke bread with them, did they recognize him.
So perhaps, this Advent may be a precious opportunity to invite Jesus again into the home of our hearts, that we may know him in a new and wonderful way. Perhaps Jesus is longing to be invited. ‘Behold I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come into you and eat with you and you with me.’
Malachi 3:13-4:2a
Luke 11:5-13
If you’ve been around children for more than about five minutes, I’m sure you’ve gotten frustrated. They interrupt and question when you just want to have a nice conversation. They run ahead, or behind, or zigzag, or sit down when you just want to have a nice walk. Think about that behavior. Now imagine yourself doing it. Does it make you uncomfortable? Do you think about what other people may think about your doing or asking? Name that uncomfortable emotion. Is it embarrassment or, perhaps, shame?
The word in our Gospel reading translated as “persistence” literally means “shamelessness.” Your friend knocks at the door late at night, and knocks, and keeps knocking, without regard for what you think about him. He needs something. Like a child, he is unashamed of his need, unashamed to ask, unashamed to persist.
Children appear in both our readings this morning, and imagining a particularly shameless child helps us to understand not only what it means to persist in prayer, as Jesus exhorts us, but to persevere in a relationship with God. God, Malachi tells us, will have compassion on those who serve God, as parents have compassion on “children who serve them” (Mal 3:17). I imagine this group not just as obedient children, but as shameless children, unembarrassed to revere God, unconcerned by what others, who see no profit in serving God, may think about them. This is the shamelessness of the psalmist, who persists in giving thanks to God despite those who mock him. This is the shamelessness of Saint Paul, who is unashamed of the Gospel (Rom 1:16).
This is difficult. We face enormous personal and social pressures to care about what others think, to conform, to grow up. But when we apply this to God, how easily we complicate our relationship with God. What childlike shamelessness gives us, I think, is single-minded freedom. Think back to that child. How would she express her need, how would she pray, how would she relate to God? Where do you feel resistance in doing likewise? What would it take for you to turn to God like her—unencumbered, unembarrassed, unashamed? Ask Jesus to give you that freedom—the freedom to ask, to search, to knock . . . the freedom to be shameless.
Amen.
Br. Luke Ditewig
Luke 5:27-32
Jesus selected a small group of disciples to particularly teach and transform, a very unusual assortment including uneducated fishermen. Choosing a tax collector is striking. Working for the occupying Roman Empire, he was considered a traitor, outcast by the Jewish community. Other disciples would have resisted or been uncomfortable by Jesus’ latest invitation.
Walking along after teaching and healing, likely amid a crowd asking questions, Jesus saw Levi. Jesus paid attention to the periphery and saw those rejected or overlooked. Looking widely, Jesus saw Levi, saw a human with dignity and worth and honored him with a call. Seen and invited, Levi experienced Jesus’ healing mercy.
“Why eat with tax collectors and sinners?” say self-confident and serious religious folk. Condemn traitors. Build barriers. Stick together. Keep clean.
Because the sick need a doctor. “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.”
Jesus comes as Great Physician to those who accept they are sick, who are in need.
Sometimes Jesus healed immediately by touch. Jesus also healed and formed over a long time, teaching and living especially with that small group of disciples. Like a doctor, Jesus offers ways to engage healing, including slowly in community. Here are three: look, honor, and receive.
Look widely. Pay attention not only to those close to you. Look to the periphery, see and welcome the outcast and stranger.
Honor mystery. We Brothers say in our Rule of Life: “… honor the mystery present in the hearts of our brothers and sisters, strangers and enemies. Only God knows them as they truly are and in silence we learn to let go of the curiosity, presumption and condemnation which pretends to penetrate the mystery of their hearts.”[i]
Receive wisdom. What do others have to teach you, especially companions you didn’t or wouldn’t choose?
Jesus comes offering healing, including through ways to give and receive together. Look widely. Honor mystery. Receive wisdom.
[i] SSJE Rule of Life, Chapter 27: Silence
Br. Todd Blackham
Gen. 49:2,8-10
Ps. 72:1-8
Mt. 1:1-7,(8-16) 17
This is the time of year when the long, dark nights dominate and creep ever further into our waking lives. They obscure ordinarily bright paths and make the late afternoon disappear into dusk as it’s barely begun. Below, the ground is cast in darkness, but above the stars shine out longer and brighter. There are more hours to behold that vast glittering expanse of stars and planets. And, it’s one of my favorite moments when among those stars, the constellations begin to make themselves known. Usually a familiar and bright formation like Orion’s belt catches my eye. With that as a reference point, all sorts of other shapes take form as dimmer, obscure points find their way into a larger picture. It’s a magnificent dance to behold and one that humans have been captivated by since they first gazed up into the glittering dome of sky.
The genealogy of Jesus here in the gospel of Matthew stands out like a bright constellation among the multitudes of God’s human creation. Within it, there are bright familiar figures, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Rahab, Ruth and David. They have rich and vibrant stories of God’s promise and provision. And there are more obscure characters, Salathiel, Abiud, and Matthan. They’re lives were not as abundantly captured in Scripture but that their names stand in line with the rest is what really matters.
What this specific list indicates is that God is supreme over all nations as well as of a particular people. The Lord is God of the mighty, as well as the obscure. Our Father is the creator of the multitudes, and the caretaker of the particular. He is a hidden God, and yet has made himself known in Jesus. The line that brought forth the savior is the testimony of God’s promise and fulfillment. Jesus stands as the root and source, as well as the consummation and end.
And all this is the adopted lineage of Jesus. This is the line of the man Joseph who said yes to care for Mary the mother of God and her Son, our Savior. And, inasmuch and Joseph was willing to adopt Jesus as his own, so Jesus has made the way for our adoption as children of the God of the vast universe and the God of each of our human hearts. Like those awe-inspiring constellations held together by the points of diverse stars, so are we knit together in Christ who fulfills the awesome purposes of God.
As the Advent of our Savior draws near, remember again whose we are. From time immemorial, the immense and unfathomable God has worked in special and particular love to draw all people to himself through the beloved Son, Jesus, our brother, our Lord. God of the cosmos has come to adopt us and bring us close, so close that we might hold him in our hands, that we might know him in bread and wine, being joined together in his mystical body until he comes again. Even so, come, Lord Jesus, come.
Br. Luke Ditewig
Clement of Rome
Luke 6:37-45
You’ll get what you give, Jesus says. Forgive and be forgiven. Judge and be judged. Compassion. Accusation. There’s reciprocity in relationship. Don’t give what you don’t want to get, especially with feedback, correction, or teaching, acknowledge your own needs. Keep at own work first. “Take the log out of your own eye so you can even rightly see the speck in your neighbor’s.” You might need help. Logs are heavy. Jesus gives a direct word because community is hard work. We need each other. It’s easy to find fault, to hold onto hurt, distance, and cut off.
Today we remember Clement of Rome, an early church leader. There was division at the church in Corinth when some younger leaders convinced the whole to remove the ruling elders. Clement wrote a pastoral letter calling the community to stick it out and abide together, to keep and listen to its elders. Clement called for maintaining hierarchy and for balance with mutuality. For a couple centuries, some included Clement’s Letter to the Corinthians in the New Testament. Clement wrote: “All work together and are mutually subject for the preservation of the whole body.”
I imagine Clement’s letter was like Jesus’ instruction: Don’t judge each other. Forgive. Take the log out of your own eye. You’ll get what you give. And give what you’ve got. Give the best you’ve received. Clement had been slave and was freed. He took the name of his former owner which means “mercy.” I expect his story shaped his caregiving. From gratitude, he lived what he received.
If you’re finding fault in another, holding onto hurt, or wanting to throw someone out—which happens at holiday gatherings—consider: What have you received? What’s the best you’ve got? Act from your gratitude from experiences of mercy, forgiveness, and love. Such gifts, such abiding with one another, helps, heals, and preserves the whole body.
Like Blessed Clement of Rome, live from gratitude, from the best gifts received.
“Again and again in the gospels, we see Jesus perceiving the intentions of the heart, whether for good or for evil, and responding in ways that reveal the truth. The Triune God sees and knows everything about us, even what we keep hidden from others. When we realize that God sees it all and still loves us with an unwavering love, we can risk being honest in our prayer.”
Br. David Vryhof urges us to be truthful with God in prayer, in response to the loving truthfulness with which we are seen and known by our loving God.
“The human creature, far from incidentally related to the earth, is in fact intrinsically related to the earth, down to the very core of its being. As our contemporary culture seems eager and willing to forget or deny this fundamental in-dwelling of creature and creation, the church remembers a different kind of anthropology as it commemorates the woman we remember today, Saint Hildegard von Bingen.”
Br. Sean Glenn points to Hildegard for a reminder of our creaturely dependence and interdependence with God and God's creation.
“Mary and Elizabeth lived with ongoing uncertainty and shame by faith. They can inform and encourage us. We hear in Paul’s Letter to the Colossians: “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, patience … forgiveness … and love … .” Elizabeth and Mary’s tender greetings, calling forth, and months shared together must have invited compassion, kindness, patience, forgiveness, and love. They are a model for us.”
On the Feast of the Visitation, Br. Luke Ditewig steps into the wondrous moment between Mary and Elizabeth and finds in its visit and its welcome a model for us all.
“It’s always tempting in times of misunderstanding to just not want to deal with it, to say you don’t have the time and energy to work through the conflict. Ignoring misunderstanding only leads to more misunderstanding down the road. Jesus does not do this and that takes courage.”
Br. Jack Crowley watches how Jesus handles misunderstanding among the disciples, and draws three practical lessons for how we can apply them in our own lives.
“Scholastica and Benedict were not only twins, they also shared a beautiful lifelong friendship. Once a year, Scholastica and Benedict would arrange to meet in a farmhouse just outside the monastery grounds. So what can we learn from this beautiful friendship rooted in God between Scholastica and Benedict?”
Br. Jack Crowley studies the examples of twins Scholastica and Benedict for a beautiful model of friendship rooted in God.
“Each morning, when I return to my cell for the prayer time, I imagine Jesus sitting there listening to me, as if what I have to say is the most important thing in his life at that moment.”
Br. James Koester invites us to trust that, in prayer, Jesus listens to us the way a mom might listen to her child.
“God is always present in the midst of conflict. That is really good news. God does not go away when people are angry at one another. There is always room for prayer no matter how much anger is in your heart or in the air. But please do not take my word for it, try it for yourself. Try praying for someone who really bothers you.”
Br. Jack Crowley finds in the Gospel scene of conflict between Jesus and the "sons of thunder" a hopeful message – and a helpful practice – for all of us struggling with conflict in our relationships.
“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them because they were harassed and helpless, like: Sheep without a shepherd. Students without a teacher, Children without a parent, Eggs without a brooding mother, Warriors without a commander, Citizens without a leader, Treasure without a guardian, Inheritance without an heir...”
Br. Keith Nelson hymns all that we’d lost – then found in Jesus.
“We do not have the power to reform other people’s behavior, but we do have the power to choose our attitude in responding to other people’s behavior. St. Paul knew having an attitude rooted in patience for other’s mistakes was essential for any Christian to survive and stay sane.”
At the onset of Advent, Br. Jack Crowley considers the Christian virtue of patience, in our relationships with one another and in our life with God.
“A fractious political environment, with lots of different groups vying for power and influence, might seem rather familiar to you. It does to me. Many people are wondering how bonds of family, friendship, and community can be maintained across these divides.”
Br. Lucas Hall ponders how we can best navigate the fraught political divides that threaten our society and our relationships.