Thoughts on Reading Atherstone's 'The Reformation: Faith and Flames'

I consider this a pretty basic introductory text on the Reformation.  At 180 pages, it might appropriately be labeled as a "coffee table book": glossy pages, lots of pictures, some maps, and text boxes within the text.  This is not to imply, however, that the book is unsubstantial in its treatment.

I did not come to the book with any naive notions of the glories of the Reformation; you won't find me celebrating "Reformation Day" on All Hallows' Eve.  I've heard the Reformation described as "tragic necessity" and even that is a bit too generous for me.  Reform was needed, undoubtedly, but the schism that resulted is hardly a cause for celebration.  Even beginning with such a view in mind, however, I was struck by the overall brutality of the period, as presented by Atherstone.  The physical violence perpetrated by Catholic and Protestant (with notable exceptions, like the humanists and the Anabaptists), as well as the constant barrage of vitriolic polemic, made for a pretty depressing read.  By this shall all men know you are My disciples, if you have love for one another?  Not in the sixteenth century.  I haven't studied the Reformation enough to know whether perhaps Atherstone placed undue emphasis on such violence in a book of this size and scope.  However, even if he did, the fact of such things remains.

An exception to this violence and absolutism was to be found in the humanist scholars, so called from the university curriculum studia humanitatis.  They looked hopefully to the future, even as they looked back critically and studiously to the knowledge and traditions of the ancients.  Their motto was ad fontes (back to the sources), and they helped to bring about a rebirth of learning in the Church and society.

Unarguably, the greatest of the humanist scholars, at least in northern Europe, was Desiderius Erasmus.  This Dutch scholar's "vast array of publications included manifestos on education and eloquence, collections of proverbs, devotional and doctrinal treatises, biting satire, and volumes on philology and classical studies."  He was a great student of ancient Christianity, edited the works of Saint Jerome, and in 1516 published a highly influential Greek translation of the New Testament, which was accompanied by a "passionate preface, The Paraclesis, an exhortation for Christians to re-engage with the Bible and a critique of contemporary church practice."  Erasmus had a great love of the Scriptures, and a fervent desire to see them embraced by all, clergy and laity, noble and commoner: "let us embrace it, let us continually occupy ourselves with it, let us fondly kiss it, at length let us die in its embrace, let us be transformed in it."

With his opening up of the Scriptures and the ancient practices of Christianity, and his scathing reprimanding of the Church for its corruption, Erasmus inspired many who would become the early Reformers throughout Europe.  Later in the century, a popular saying claimed that "Erasmus laid the egg which Luther hatched."  Erasmus disputed this claim, saying that "Luther hatched a very different bird."  The two men, though early on mutual admirers, proved to be far too incompatible to become allies.  They were indeed different, in temperament, in theology and method, and in their convictions about the Church and their own place in it.  After a public back and forth debate throughout the 1520s about human freedom and God's sovereignty, the two men's break was more or less complete.  In later years, the ever bombastic Luther was unambiguous in his hostility toward the humanist, going so far as to claim, "I hate Erasmus from the bottom of my heart" and "I consider Erasmus to be the greatest enemy Christ has had these thousand years past."  For his part, Erasmus, the erudite seeker after truth come what may, was ultimately not convinced that a break with Rome was necessary, despite his reputation as a father of the Reformation.  He died a faithful son and communicant of Rome, but surrounded at his deathbed by Protestant friends.  Not one to be co-opted by ecclesial partisans, Erasmus remained ever in the middle, so to speak.  It is a place that many consider cowardly, or unprincipled, or uncommitted, which is rather ironic given the blows those who stand there by conviction are willing to absorb from all sides.  It is a place I seem to often find myself.  Consequently, I find resonant the practicality and honesty of Erasmus when he stated:

"I have never been an apostate from the Catholic Church.  I know that in this Church, which you call the Papist Church, there are many who displease me, but such I see also in your Church.  One bears more easily the evils to which one is accustomed."    

Another notable humanist is the French scholar Sebastian Castellio.  Castellio criticized John Calvin in the aftermath of the trial and execution by burning of the heretic Miguel Servetus in Calvin's Geneva in 1553.  Castellio went so far as to say that any execution for heresy was both pointless and an injustice, since Christians could not even agree in all cases as to what constitutes heresy.  In his treatise, On Heretics, Castellio wrote:

"There is hardly one of all the sects, which today are without number, which does not hold the others to be heretics.  So that if in one city or region you are esteemed a true believer, in the next you will be esteemed a heretic.  So that if anyone today wants to live he must have as many faiths and religions as there are cities or sects, just as a man who travels through the lands has to change his money from day to day ..." 

Castellio went on to declare that, "It would be better to let a hundred, even a thousand heretics live than to put a decent man to death under pretense of heresy."

In one sense, it is not at all surprising that I found myself identifying so with the humanist scholars.  I am a student also, who loves learning and the pursuit of truth, and who believes that an honest and critical examination of the past is of the first importance in such endeavors.  Like them, I do not believe we have anything to fear from the truth, and accordingly, such scholarship is a means of strengthening rather than weakening religion.  On the other hand, I found it ironic that I, who consider myself something of an eccentric traditionalist in my general outlook and personal tastes, should be so drawn to those who were, for their time, the most forward-looking and modern of men.  Perhaps I should not delude myself with thoughts of my having been born in the wrong century; I am, for better or worse, quite a creature of my own time and place after all.

One last and less serious observation: I had never noticed how popular a name was Thomas in sixteenth century England.  Only, like, almost every major player in the English Reformation period: Thomas Wolsey, Thomas More, Thomas Cranmer, Thomas Cromwell ... to mention just a few of the most notable.    

Pray for Christian Unity

Father, we pray for your holy Catholic Church;
That we all may be one. 
               ~Prayers of the People, Form III, BCP


This week, beginning with the Feast of the Confession of St. Peter and continuing through to the Conversion of St. Paul, marks the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, an idea popularized early in the twentieth century by the French ecumenist and Roman Catholic priest, Paul Couturier.  Richard Meux Benson was a priest of the Church of England, and the founder of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist.  Fr. Benson writes:

We, as members of the human race, are not so many individuals existing alongside of one another in the world, but by nature we are one; and we cannot be restored to the love of God merely as individuals.  We must be restored in the consciousness of that unity to which we belong.  We are not taken out of the one body to be individuals in heaven.  The law of sympathy is a law which lives on with us, and without it we cannot be saved.  We cannot truly have a personal interest in Christ, unless we have a collective interest in Christ.  We cannot have our sins blotted out by Christ's blood, unless we have fellowship with one another.  This law of unity is the law under which we are created, and we must accept it as the foundation of our moral state.  We must then have a real sense of our own participation in the sins of the whole race.  And we must humble ourselves before God.

Lack of unity among Christians is hardly a new problem.  Despite our Lord's prayer "that they may be one" as He and the Father are one, we've done a pretty fine job of splitting ourselves into sects and divisions right from the start.  From St. Paul's concern expressed to the Corinthians that they were splitting into factions of Paul, Apollos, and Cephas, through the early Church's struggle to define its orthodoxy, through the Great Schism between East and West in the eleventh century to the Protestant Reformations of the sixteenth, and the subsequent continued splintering of Protestantism that continues down to our own day, it would be easy to look around and think that Christian unity is more distant than ever.  The idea of Christian unity is famously tricky, in part because there is not even agreement about what we mean when we speak of it.  Do we seek a single, unified institution?  Varied institutions in full communion with one another?  Universal conformity in doctrine?  A simple charity of spirit on matters of adiaphora (though that would entail agreement on what is adiaphora and what is essential)?  In short, one could become frustrated quite easily.  All the more reason to pray fervently for that unity which, apparently, is meant to be a defining mark of the People of God.

The Church in America is not unique for its disunity; disunity afflicts the Church the world over.  But I think we in America, perhaps more than most, need to be reminded of the scandal of a divided Church.  From the beginning, America has seen a multiplicity of churches, and that diversity has only grown over time.  We also cherish the ideals of individuality and personal liberty, so much so that we are most apt to speak of these things as blessings, unique and characteristic strengths of religion in America.  But individuality and personal liberty are largely incompatible with the gospel and the idea of the Church as presented in the New Testament and in Christian tradition (or, more accurately, it is the pervasive individualism that passes for these ideals which is incompatible with Christianity).  In becoming members of Christ's body, we become bound to Jesus, our Lord and Master, and also bound to the rest of the Body. We are instructed to submit to one another out of reverence for Christ (what red-blooded, liberty-loving, self-reliant American patriot would willingly be bound in submission to anyone or anything?).  The freedom of Christ is not a license to do whatever we want, as both Paul and Peter point out in their letters.  And, popular evangelical phraseology not withstanding, Jesus is not my personal Savior; he is the Savior of the world.  One may counter that this is simply semantics, that Jesus is both Savior of the world and the Savior of me, personally, as a beloved individual creature in this world.  True enough, but I think many in the Church in America today have been fed so much of the language of personal salvation that they may understandably intuit that it really just boils down to "Jesus and me."  After all, "it's about relationship, not religion", right?  I suspect that many American Christians would balk at Benson's assertion that "we cannot be restored to the love of God merely as individuals", that without fellowship and real sympathy with our fellow humans "we cannot be saved."  But I believe it is so.  Christ founded a Church, not a loose association of individuals.  This idea of the Christian faith as communal by definition needs to be regained with vigor.  The Christian faith simply cannot be separated from the Church and passed off as an endlessly individualized series of options for the lone spiritual seeker who won't be tied down.  The author of the letter to the Hebrews gives us insight into the profound nature of the unity of the whole Church and the reality that our individual salvation is inextricably bound up with the welfare of the whole when he writes, "only together with us would they be made perfect" (Hebrews 11:40).

The Christian lives in hope.  Despite the seeming bleakness of our deep, long-ingrained disunion, we continue to pray.  Let us pray, not in desperation, but in expectation.  In the fourth chapter of the letter to the Ephesians, in what is perhaps the most famous passage in the New Testament on Christian unity, Paul prefaces his creedal statement about "one Lord, one faith, one baptism" with this injunction: "Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace."  No matter how we divide ourselves, the Holy Spirit will not be divided.  To the extent that we, dispersed though we are, cling to Jesus Christ, the Head of the Body, and seek only to build upon the foundation that has Christ as cornerstone, we may live in hope that the unity of the Church, a perpetual reality that we have often obscured, will become ever clearer as the Day approaches.

By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it.  But each one should be careful how he builds.  For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ ... So then, no more boasting about men!  All things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future -- all are yours, and you are of Christ, and Christ is of God.   
~ I Corinthians 3:10-11, 21-23 

Almighty Father, whose blessed Son before his passion prayed for his disciples that they might be one, as you and he are one: Grant that your Church, being bound together in love and obedience to you, may be united in the one body by the one Spirit, that the world may believe in him whom you have sent, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.
~A Prayer for the Unity of the Church, BCP

What Does It Mean to Be Catholic?

I consider myself to be a Catholic Christian, an identity which has grown stronger in recent years.  As an Anglican, I have a Protestant heritage which I cannot deny, but I lean considerably more to the Catholic shore of the via media.  I sincerely think of myself, and on occasion have described myself to inquirers, as Catholic, just not Roman.

So, what does this mean?  What is this catholic faith to which I lay claim?  

And the Catholic Faith is this: That we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity ...

So opens the Athanasian Creed.  Certainly, the catholic faith is nothing if not Trinitarian.  This is born out as well in the foundational Apostles' Creed, and the later Nicene Creed.  It is in the Nicene Creed, "the creed of the universal Church" (BCP Catechism) that we find the essence of the Christian faith, the summation of our belief.  If to be catholic is to affirm the Nicene Creed, then I believe we may say that the catholic faith is, in essence, "mere Christianity."

I'm not big on labels.  They can be useful and sometimes necessary, but they can also give rise to much misunderstanding.  I don't usually describe myself as Anglo-Catholic, simply because the title may be understood to mean a particular church "party," with members giving assent to an agreed upon platform on a whole host of issues.  For the same reason, I don't identify myself as an "Affirming Catholic."  I could adopt both these labels, for they are certainly more descriptive of my spirituality than not.  But rather than have people I only just met assume they know my mind on any given social or theological issue, I prefer to keep labels at a minimum.  I am a Christian.  Beyond this, I feel justified in claiming the name catholic as well, for two reasons.

Firstly, there are those in the Church today who claim the name of Christian (understandable), but who nevertheless do not believe in the truth of some of the most basic teachings which the Church has for centuries affirmed.  This one may not believe in the virginal conception of our Lord, this one may deny His bodily resurrection, this one may even deny the divinity of Jesus Christ (i.e. they deny one or more articles of the Creed).  I will not stand and accuse such a one, if they are baptized into the fellowship of the Church, of not being a Christian.  Certainly, such a one opens himself up to the charge, but who am I to judge the servant of another?  He may indeed, as is any Christian, be following Christ to the best of his ability, stumblingly, by grace.  The Christian life is a continual journey, and all are at different points along the road, and for each, to his own master he stands or falls.  But what I will say with confidence is that such a one is not a Catholic Christian.  That is, he does not affirm the historic, catholic faith of the Church.*  Or, put another way, it would not be surprising for an objective, outside observer to indeed question whether such a one is a Christian, since he does not assent to those basic beliefs that have fundamentally defined the Christian faith since its earliest times.  He may find Jesus an inspiring figure, the exemplary human, etc., but the catholic faith has always asserted that He was much more than that.  All of which is to demonstrate that the catholic faith may, I believe, be defined as "mere Christianity", or what the overwhelming majority of Christians, not only the majorities of bishops in councils, but individual Christians, the well-educated and the simple, in their private homes and in their hearts, have believed about the essentials of their faith for most of the history of the Church.**  It is this faith, in its essentials, to which I hold.        

The second reason is perhaps less important, but certainly not insignificant.  The word Catholic is generally associated with a way of being Christian which is recognizably different from the Protestant way.  Any reasonably educated person, whether or not religious, can identify this.  Put very simply, the Catholic way has more ritual, more reverence for the ancient ways.  Such things as the centrality of the Eucharist, and believing the same to be an actual sharing in the Body and Blood of our Lord; a high regard for the Church visible as a true instrument of God's grace through the Sacraments; the belief that the faith of the Apostles has been handed down to us not only in the Holy Scriptures, but also in the teaching and counsel of the Church; the keeping of prescribed devotions, understanding them within the context of the greater communion of saints; all these and more are marks that may be called recognizably Catholic.  All these and more I embrace.  
 
Peace.


*  If I am not mistaken, the word catholic was used by the ancient Fathers precisely to differentiate the apostolic, Trinitarian faith from Arianism, Nestorianism, Monophysitism, and all the rest of the heretical doctrines vying for influence in the early Church.

**  I realize this statement sounds something like the Vincentian Canon (the catholic faith is that which has been believed everywhere, always, and by all).  I haven't studied the canon and its application in detail, but I'll confess that I don't find it all that helpful.  It seems to me to be more the expression of an ideal, not a foolproof formula for easily assessing whether or not one's stance on a given doctrinal issue is catholic (which is how it I've seen it employed on more than one occasion in online forums).
         

Echoes of Jeremiah

"For wicked men are found among my people ... They are fat, they are sleek, they also overlook deeds of wickedness; they do not plead the cause, the cause of the orphan that they may prosper; and they do not defend the rights of the poor.  Shall I not punish these people?" declares the LORD, "On a nation such as this shall I not avenge myself?"
"An appalling and horrible thing has happened in the land: the prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests rule on their own authority; and My people love it so!  But what will you do at the end of it?"
~Jeremiah 5:26a, 28-31

Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, "Amend your ways and your deeds, and I will let you dwell in this place.  Do not trust in deceptive words, saying, 'This is the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD.'  For if you truly amend your ways and your deeds, if you truly practice justice between a man and his neighbor, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, or the widow, and do not shed innocent blood in this place, nor walk after other gods to your own ruin, then I will let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave to your fathers forever and ever.  
"Behold, you are trusting in deceptive words to no avail.  Will you steal, murder, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and offer sacrifices to Baal, and walk after other gods that you have not known, then come and stand before Me in this house, which is called by My name, and say, 'We are delivered!' -- that you may do all these abominations?  Has this house, which is called by My name, become a den of robbers in your sight?  Behold, I, even I, have seen it," declares the LORD.
~Jeremiah 7:3-11

This Lent, the Daily Office lectionary has been taking us through the book of Jeremiah.  The above passages are but two examples of a theme that runs all through the book.  Judah is being condemned for two great sins:  committing injustice toward the poor and oppressed, and turning away from the LORD after other gods. It seems to me that both are a problem in the Church today, though in different places, as it were.  (I am aware that in what follows, I am speaking in generalities; there are always exceptions to the rule.)

Mainline Protestant churches, such as my own Episcopal Church, have for some time had a distinct emphasis on seeking to promote and uphold social justice.  This is as it should be.  But in some cases, that emphasis has become so central that it has pushed orthodox doctrine to the side, as a thing secondary, or even unimportant (and in some instances, incredibly, basic tenets of Christian doctrine are viewed as problematic, something to be gotten rid of).

Some more 'conservative' churches, such as the many evangelical and non-denominational fellowships, have done well in seeking to remain faithful to God in the midst of a secular society that is increasingly unabashed in expressing scorn for the scandalous and exclusive claims of Christ and His Church.  But these same churches can be guilty of inadequately addressing the needs of the suffering, poor, and outcasts, since we seek another country, and anyway the poor you will always have with you.

I think in order to be the Church, we must duly attend to both concerns.  According to the Catechism of the Episcopal Church, "The Church is the community of the New Covenant.  The Church is described (in the Bible) as the Body of which Jesus Christ is the Head and of which all baptized persons are members" (BCP, pg. 854).  This then, is our identity.  It is found, fundamentally, in the person of Jesus Christ.  To move away from this identity, to relegate or downgrade as non-essential the basic doctrine of the catholic, apostolic faith, is to cease to be the Church and to become simply another charitable organization.  Such an organization may draw its inspiration from the example of a really good guy who showed us how we should live, but it is also an organization that, frankly, is not nearly so efficient as some other entities that also exist to address issues of social justice and the common good.  Social justice is not the definitive mark of the Church, but is rather an essential outgrowth of our identity as a community that has been brought, and is ever growing more, into unity with God in Christ.  In the words of the Catechism, "The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ."  Certainly, working for social justice is integral to bringing people into unity with each other, but I think this distinction between the identity of the Church and the mission of the Church is important; we must not put the cart before the horse.  However, where the mission is not being pursued, I think we may justly question the authenticity of the identity.  We should keep James's biting criticism of faith without works ever before us: If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you should say, 'Go in peace, be warmed and be filled,' and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that?  And our Lord himself reserved His harshest condemnations for those 'Pharisaical' hypocrites, of whom Isaiah prophesied, This people honors Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me.

Admittedly, this is difficult.  The call to live faithfully as the Church Militant always will be difficult, but we have the consolation that God is in our midst, and through Christ we can do all things.  May He give us grace both to hold fast to Him, our first love, and to ever "strive for justice and peace among all people", faithful in  the ministry of reconciliation that has been entrusted to us.

Gracious Father, we pray for thy holy Catholic Church.  Fill it with all truth, in all truth with all peace.  Where it is corrupt, purify it; where it is in error, direct it; where in anything it is amiss, reform it.  Where it is right, strengthen it; where it is in want, provide for it; where it is divided, reunite it; for the sake of Jesus Christ thy Son our Savior.  Amen. 

       

Thinking About the Limits of Human Knowledge, the Catholic Tradition, and Resting in God

O LORD, I am not proud;
   I have no haughty looks.
I do not occupy myself with great matters,
   or with things that are too hard for me.
But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother's breast;
   my soul is quieted within me.
O Israel, wait upon the LORD,
   from this time forth for evermore.
~Psalm 131

Sometimes, when I'm reading through the online world of blogs, I start feeling pretty dumb.  There are a lot of people who know a lot more than I do, even in those fields of knowledge where I focus my energies (e.g. history, theology, ecclesiology, literature, etc.), to say nothing of all those important topics about which I know very little indeed (e.g. biology, medicine, psychology, mathematics, economics, all things mechanical, ad infinitum).  It can be a bit overwhelming, particularly today, living as we do in the information age.

Recently, while considering the futility of attempting to learn everything, the following passage from Don Miller's Blue Like Jazz came to mind.

My most recent faith struggle is not one of intellect.  I don't really do that anymore.  Sooner or later you just figure out there are some guys who don't believe in God and they can prove He doesn't exist, and some other guys who do believe in God and they can prove He does exist, and the argument stopped being about God a long time ago and now it's about who is smarter, and honestly I don't care.  I don't believe I will ever walk away from God for intellectual reasons.  Who knows anything, anyway?  If I walk away from Him, and please pray that I never do, I will walk away for social reasons, identity reasons, deep emotional reasons, the same reasons that any of us do anything.

This was one of those passages that grabbed me and stuck with me.  One does have to be careful about taking this kind of sentiment too far, and simply dismissing all rational and rigorous thinking as unimportant.  I certainly don't believe that; in fact, I place great value on the life of the mind, and intellectualism in the best sense of the word.  And yet I do think the intellect can take one only so far, and that at some point we all have to say, 'well, I guess I really can't figure it all out', and neither can anyone else, no matter how many years we devote to learning.  There will always be more to learn, and there will always be areas in which people can't seem to agree, with compelling arguments on both sides.  I think this is particularly true in matters of religion.  I consider myself to be pretty orthodox as regards matters of faith and doctrine (even though I'm an Episcopalian, gasp!), but I have to admit that I really identify with Miller when he asks, 'Who knows anything anyway?'  I think this is why I have always felt so at home in the Anglican tradition.  Despite my own adherence to orthodoxy, I am ever open to the possibility that I could be totally wrong about all this stuff.  I don't view this as a lack of faith on my part, but simply as intellectual honesty.  I can make definitive declarations about the nature and reality of God all I want, but really, what do I know?  If I'm honest, I have to say that in all these things, I do not know, but rather I believe. 

Although this realization has the potential to be frustrating (and, if taken to extremes, to degenerate into a kind of nihilism), it can also be incredibly liberating.  God doesn't expect me to know everything.  He does expect me to do the best I honestly can with what I have been given, and to ever be wrestling and seeking for truth (which I do confidently in the belief that 'He is not far from each one of us').  That I can do.  Incidentally, I think there is a correlation between my coming to this realization and my being increasingly drawn to a more catholic (as opposed to a more Protestant, reformed) understanding of the Church.  It takes much of the pressure off of the individual.  (I think of the times I've heard preachers say something like, 'Don't take my word for it; go look up the chapter and verse yourself.'  This seems to imply that we should not trust the pastor, that we should not trust anyone.  What kind of community is that?)  I do not have to go it alone, compelling my very limited intellect to serve as my own personal pope, seeking to interpret the Scriptures verse by verse in the isolation of my own study.  Rather, I am simply one of a great communion of saints, founded on the cornerstone of Jesus Christ, built up by the apostles, and continuing through the centuries down to today to be 'built up as a spiritual house for a holy priesthood'. This is not to say that individuals, and even the Church corporate, can never err.  We are still human, after all (and this is another reason why I remain at home in Anglican Christianity with its concept of a 'reformed catholicism', comprehensively drawing on the riches of catholic tradition tempered by an acknowledgment of the need for continual renewal amidst human failings and advances in knowledge that result in significant changes for societies and individuals).  But I nevertheless take great comfort in being able to lean on the centuries-worn traditions that have strengthened countless Christians before me.  I will continue to struggle in a God-ward direction, but along the way I can trust that I am walking a path that many have trod before, even in those moments when my own doubts and shortcomings are most apparent.

I was hesitant to begin this post with Psalm 131.  I've always loved this Psalm, but I think it easily opens one up to charges of a unenviable sort of 'blind faith' that is complacent and un-seeking, and to the oft-heard 'religion as a crutch'.  As already stated, I believe strongly that the Christian life should be one of continual seeking after truth, pressing further into God; i.e an inquiring faith. As to the 'crutch' criticism, I would ask: What sort of critic ridicules a wounded man for leaning upon a needed support?  And how much more absurd when one recognizes that all alike are wounded?  As Hemingway observed, 'The world breaks everyone'.  Those who deny the woundedness of their own human nature are either naive or dishonest.  Much as we rugged individualists are loathe to admit it, none of us are truly independent.  True health and wholeness are dependent upon the love and support of others: family, friends, and ultimately (though often unseen and unacknowledged) upon God.  Only when we confess this can we begin to live with peace and fulfillment.  For myself, I count it wisdom to join with the Psalmist in recognizing that there are indeed some things that are too hard for me and, owing to the finite nature of this mortal life, there will sometimes be great matters about which I will choose to not occupy myself.  For surely now more than ever we need to be reminded to occasionally still and quiet our souls, like a child upon its mother's breast.      

Peace.      


A Prayer for Guidance
O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light riseth up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what thou wouldest have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in thy light we may see light, and in thy straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

I Believe in the Communion of Saints

These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised.  God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.  Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders, and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.     ~Hebrews 11:39-12:2

Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord: Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting.  Amen.
~Collect for All Saints' Day

As Christians, we do not pilgrimage through this world alone.  Indeed, the writer to the Hebrews implies that we cannot walk alone.  "Only together with us would they be made perfect."  We are all bound together, saints on earth and in heaven; ours is not a gospel of rugged individualism, far from it.  It is in Christ that we find true freedom, yet paradoxically this new life is one in which we are bound, not only to Christ, but to one another.  We cannot separate ourselves from those saints who have gone before us, even if we would sometimes wish to do so.

On All Saints' Day, we do more than simply remember those saints of old.  To sit and "remember"  someone (in the popular understanding of the word) may indeed be very edifying, but one does not commune with another by simply thinking about them.  On All Saints' Day, the Church on earth is called to remember the reality of this true communion, this fellowship, which we are prone to neglect because it extends beyond our limits of time and space.  This does not make it any less real; indeed, we might say it makes it more real.  We are "bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise," as the catechism in The Book of Common Prayer reminds us.

The writer to the Hebrews continues to expound this truth with the famous words about the "great cloud of witnesses" that surrounds us.  In one sense, we are not the primary actors here; it is they, the saints who have gone before us, who are watching us, encouraging us, and aiding us by their intercession, we who have still our race to run and so need the assistance.  Incidentally, I increasingly find odd the Protestant antipathy towards praying for the intercession of the saints.  Yes, prayers to the saints can be overemphasized to the point of distraction and even harm (we must remember to "fix our eyes on Jesus"), and I think the Protestant stance is ultimately a reactionary one against such overemphasis.  But unless one is inclined to deny the very concept of the communion of saints (which would be odd, indeed), how is asking for the intercession of the saints in heaven so different from asking for the intercession of my brothers and sisters now on earth?  Well, in one respect at least, it is different: we might logically expect the prayers of those who "are before the throne of God" to be particularly efficacious.

The reality of the communion of all saints of the Church is beautifully summed up in the following prayer, one of the collects "Of a Saint" from The Book of Common Prayer.  It draws heavily on the language of the Epistle to the Hebrews.      Peace.

Almighty God, by your Holy Spirit you have made us one with your saints in heaven and on earth: Grant that in our earthly pilgrimage we may always be supported by this fellowship of love and prayer, and know ourselves to be surrounded by their witness to your power and mercy.  We ask this for the sake of Jesus Christ, in whom all our intercessions are acceptable through the Spirit, and who lives and reigns for ever and ever.  Amen.   

Christ in the Eucharist

"For My flesh is true food, and My blood is true drink.  He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in Him."

~ John 6:55-56

With the successive gospel readings from the sixth chapter of John over the past several Sundays, I've been thinking about Jesus as the Bread of Life.  Of course, every Sunday we believe that we gather to partake of this Bread in the Eucharist (i.e. the Lord's Supper, the Mass, Holy Communion),  "the holy food and drink of new and unending life in him", the sacrament whereby we are strengthened by God's grace and drawn into closer union with God in Christ.  The power and consolation of this central act of our worship has been made more real to me of late, as I've been consciously seeking to open myself more willingly to the Spirit and grow closer to Jesus.  I believe that in these earthy gifts of bread and wine, by God's grace I encounter the real presence of Christ.

It is curious to me that so many Christians lay such emphasis upon negating a sacramental theology of the Eucharist, that is, in stressing that "these are only symbols, and we only do this 'in remembrance'; there is no special grace or power to be received here" (incidentally, it's my understanding that the Greek word anamnesis has significantly deeper meaning than our English remembrance, a meaning that imparts living into the reality of a past event, not merely thinking about it.  I really need to learn Greek one of these days; I can only imagine how much it opens up the Scriptures).  Apart from the very early and continuing tradition of the church (a line of argument which unfortunately may not carry much weight with many Protestants) there is the testimony of Scripture.  I would even say that a view of the Lord's Supper as memorial only, to the point of denying the real presence of Christ, is not grounded in the Bible, but rather in a reaction to the perceived abuses and/or excesses of the church of the middle ages.  To be sure, there was much need for reform and renewal in the church of the sixteenth century, and it was in this context that the Protestant traditions were born.  Unfortunately, it is still the reactionary context in which many continue.  

But what do the Scriptures say?  In the synoptic gospels, Jesus speaks with little elaboration, "This is my body ... this is my blood."  Paul writes about the imperative of not drinking "the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner" in a passage that seems to make clear that we partake of a powerful spiritual reality in this meal, a reality that unites us truly, not just symbolically.  "Is not the cup of blessing which we bless a sharing in the blood of Christ?  Is not the bread which we break a sharing in the body of Christ?  Since there is one bread, we who are many are one body; for we all partake of the one bread."

And then there is Jesus as the Bread of Life in John's gospel.  Jesus says, "I am the living bread that came down out of heaven; if anyone eats of this bread, he shall live forever; and the bread also which I shall give for the life of the world is My flesh."  The crowd is incredulous; "How can this man give us His flesh to eat?"  I can imagine them arguing and scratching their heads, trying to make sense of it: "Well, this guy is obviously crazy! ... No, no, he must be speaking metaphorically ... Surely, you don't think he actually means what he is saying?"  And Jesus answers: "My flesh is true food, and My blood is true drink.  He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in Him."  The message is not to be taken literally (Jesus is obviously not advocating cannibalism), but neither is this mere metaphor.  Here is a reality that goes deep, beyond what is seen, beyond what can be comprehended  rationally.  But it is a reality that gives eternal life and affects the union of man to God.  This is indeed a mystery, sacramentum.  The crowd, not surprisingly, responds, "This is a difficult statement; who can listen to it?" and many abandon him.

It is a difficult statement, and a hard thing to which Jesus calls us.  For, as my priest pointed out in her homily this morning, it is not only life to which Christ calls us, but death also, death to ourselves and the corruption of the world.  We eat of the Bread of Life even as we share the Cup of His Passion.  In the Eucharist we turn away from the dying things of this world, and take hold of that which is real.

We Christians separate ourselves from one another over so many things.  But it is truly sad that the very act which Our Lord commanded and gave us to draw us to Himself and one another in unity, has become such a cause of division.  Yet I believe that the Eucharist remains as God intended it, a sacrament of grace and union, and that He will even still draw us together around His table, that we who are many may find ourselves one in Christ. I pray that God hastens the day.  Peace.

And we earnestly desire thy fatherly goodness to accept this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, whereby we offer and present unto thee, O Lord, our selves, our souls and bodies.  Grant, we beseech thee, that all who partake of this Holy Communion may worthily receive the most precious Body and Blood of thy Son Jesus Christ, and be filled with thy grace and heavenly benediction; and also that we and all thy whole Church may be made one body with him, that he may dwell in us, and we in him, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord; 

By whom, and with whom, and in whom, in the unity of the Holy Ghost all honor and glory be unto thee, O Father Almighty, world without end.  AMEN.

 ~from Eucharistic Prayer II, Rite I, BCP  

Incarnational Theology and Praying the Anglican Rosary

O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature: Grant that we may share the divine life of him who humbled himself to share our humanity, your Son Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
~Various Occasions, Collect no. 4: Of the Incarnation

Among the things that I have been learning in my readings over the last year or so, one recurring idea is that of the Incarnation as central to the Anglican identity and understanding of the faith.  The results of recognizing Incarnational theology as the foundation of the faith are many and significant.  One result for me has been an embracing of the tangible and physical as redeemed and good.  This is a desire that has always been present in me (and, I think, in humanity generally), but was for years tempered by my Protestant upbringing.  I read a statement a while back about the latent and unacknowledged Gnosticism that pervades much of Protestantism.  It is the dualism of the Gnostic that says, "The spirit alone is good, the flesh is evil."  Many Protestants would not baldly make such an extreme assertion in their theology (some would), but the results are manifest nonetheless.  Compare the sparse, utilitarian "meeting house" of the Protestant with the glittering, liturgy-steeped cathedral of the Catholic.  "Bah, rags of Popery!  Enticing and deceiving the ignorant masses with all those 'smells and bells', the sensuality of it all!"  To which the catholic Christian answers, "Christ has come and fully embraced our humanity, our earth and time-bound existence.  God became man, was born, lived as one of us, died, and was reborn out of death.  In so doing, He has hallowed our humanity, and all creation with us.  As it was in the beginning, so it is now again: 'It is good'."

Now, it is obviously true that we still live beset by the corruption of this fallen world and must continually "persevere in resisting evil"; to suggest otherwise is to be blind to the daily reality of sin, to look on evil and claim that it is actually good and we just don't yet recognize the goodness (what C.S. Lewis called "talking damned nonsense").  I am not advocating a feel good theology that refuses to acknowledge that there is evil in the world; yet the great work of redemption has been accomplished already. Christ the second Adam has reconciled humankind to God by becoming one of us, and through an act of entire self-giving has filled all in all.

And so, out of the goodness of His creation, we bring Him the best we can offer.  Yes, we seek to move beyond the purely temporal as we draw nearer to God in Christ, but we do not reject the temporal in the process.  God did not redeem us by rejecting the temporal to affect our salvation by some purely spiritual act "somewhere out there." He came to us in the here and now.  It is here and now that we exist, and so we worship with our bodies as well, with our minds, with our voices, with our gifts, be they literary, musical, architectural, etc.  We bring all we are before God as an offering.  And we glorify Him in the here and now, where He has placed us to be a channel of His Love in the midst of this physical Creation.

A simple example of this embracing of the tangible is the use of prayer beads, a tradition that stretches back centuries through the saints.  I ordered mine online from the Solitaries of DeKoven; one of the hermits makes them as a ministry and form of livelihood for the order; each one is crafted in prayer.  I've been using them in my times of personal prayer for about a month now.  I also just read a small book (a pamphlet, really) by Lynn C. Bauman entitled The Anglican Rosary.  The book consists primarily of sample prayers, which also serve as examples to inspire the reader in composing their own prayers.  But it also includes an introduction to the history of the Rosary, and an explanation of its symbols.  The Anglican Rosary is rife with symbolism, much of it focused on numbers which have deep significance in Scripture: the circle of the beads represents eternity, even while our praying through the cycle of beads mirrors our earthy pilgrimage; the four cruciform beads make the symbol of the cross; the four "weeks" or series of seven beads make up the majority of the prayers, recalling the seven days of creation, and the seven seasons of the church's liturgical year; the rosary is prayed through three times, bringing the number of cruciform prayers to twelve; the total number of beads is thirty-three, the number of years of Christ's earthly life; and on and on.

In many ways, the Rosary also mirrors the liturgical year of the church, which is itself an acknowledgement of the redemption of the created order, the seasons which govern our life.  But in the liturgical year, the church consciously marks time by a recognition of the sacred, the major events of that supreme event, the life of Christ.  In so doing, we are able to see the deeper truths to which the whole created order points.  I think Bauman sums this up beautifully.  For example, she writes:

"Because the seasons of the Liturgical Year are strategically placed around the four cardinal points of the solar year, we can more easily grasp their spiritual significance.  For example, the Feast of Christmas falls on and replaces the ancient feast of Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, when the Sun makes its turn back toward the longest day.  This ancient, pagan feast signified the birth of Light into the world and the return to light from darkness.  It is fitting, therefore, that Christmas should be celebrated here as well, since it stands for the birth of the Divine Light into the great darkness of the world.  Another example, Easter falls on or around Spring Equinox when light 'conquers' darkness, so to speak, and the days are now longer than the night.  Pentecost is celebrated on or near the Summer Solstice, the longest and brightest day of the year.  Briefly then we can understand the spiritual symbolism inherent in each season."

Another point Bauman makes is that we can view praying the Rosary as "a little office".  This has been especially helpful to me.  I love to pray the daily office (using the rites in The Book of Common Prayer), but since the arrival of our third child, this is not always easy.  Very often the times when I have opportunity to pray are times that I am holding a little one in my arms.  Viewing the Rosary as a modified form of the daily office comes in handy in such a situation.  Bauman cites Robert Llewelyn here:

"It is best to see the saying of the Rosary as an offering ... The Rosary is, in fact, a Little Office.  It has the great advantage of simplicity.  No books, no distractions in searching for hymns, antiphons, psalms and lessons, and the Rosary itself can be easily carried wherever we go."

As I said, I love the daily office, and I certainly don't intend for the Rosary to replace it over the long term, but it has been a blessing for me in this season.  I close now with a sample prayer from Bauman's book that I find particularly beautiful and powerful.  It's also particularly appropriate for the approaching Feast of the Transfiguration of Our Lord.  Peace.

A Rosary of Image and Likeness

Crucifix:
In the Name of Christ,
The Alpha and Omega,
Our Origin, our Destiny, and End.

Invitatory Bead:
When anyone turns to the Lord
the veil is removed.
For the Lord is the Spirit,
and where the Spirit of the Lord is,
there is freedom.
And we who gaze with unveiled faces,
reflecting the glory of the Lord
are being transformed into the same image
from one degree of glory to another.
All this comes from the Lord, who is Spirit.

Cruciform Beads:
And I, when I awaken,
Shall see your face, my God,
I shall gaze upon your image and be satisfied.

The Weeks:
I descended in your image,
I remain here in your love,
In your likeness at last I shall ascend.