s

Peace Amid Persecution

Daily Reading for June 1 • Justin, Martyr at Rome, c. 167

It has been said that the lives of the early Christians consisted of “persecution above ground and prayer below ground.” Beneath Rome are the excavations which we call the catacombs, which were at once temples and tombs. Both pagans and Christians buried their dead in these catacombs. When the Christian graves have been opened, the skeletons tell their own terrible tale. But despite the awful story of persecution that we may read here, the inscriptions breathe forth peace and joy and triumph. Here are a few:

“Here lies Marcia, put to rest in a dream of peace.”
“Lawrence to his sweetest son, borne away of angels.”
“Victorious in peace and in Christ.”
“Being called away, he went in peace.”

Remember when reading these inscriptions the story the skeletons tell of persecution, of torture, and of fire. But the full force of these epitaphs is seen when we contrast them with the pagan epitaphs, such as:
“Live for the present hour, since we are sure of nothing else.”
“I lift my hands against the gods who took me away at the age of twenty though I had done no harm.”
“Once I was not. Now I am not. I know nothing about it, and it is no concern of mine.”

The most frequent Christian symbols on the walls of the catacombs are the good shepherd with the lamb on his shoulder, a ship under full sail, harps, anchors, crowns, vines, and above all the fish.

From Fox’s Book of Martyrs (Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1926).

Rabbinic roots

By Greg Jones

It should go without saying, but bears repeating anyway, that Jesus and his disciples were all Jews. The Church emerged from Judaism, and was literally born with a Bible in its cradle. The New Testament itself may be seen as a first-century Jewish collection, and it behooves us today to really explore how Jesus and the first Christians beheld and engaged with the Word of God in the Bible.

In Judaism, the first five books of the Bible – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy – are called “the Law” or, in Hebrew, Torah. These books represent the story God told to Moses on Mt. Sinai as he was leading that disgruntled mob of slaves out of Egypt and toward the land of promise. Judaism holds that God revealed the definitive saga to Moses, and Moses brought this sacred story back from the mountain top in both written and oral form. The written form is called Torah, which tradition says was penned by Moses himself, and the oral form would be handed on vocally but never in writing for over a thousand years. Amazingly, the oral transmission would not be committed to written form until late antiquity – roughly between 200 and 500 AD – long after the time of Christ. The “oral Torah,” as it was sometimes called, is the basis for the Mishna and Talmud, and for numerous books of rabbinical commentary, generally called midrash.

While the oral tradition would become immense and varied over time, and quite difficult to fathom even in its later written form, the written Law is remarkably concise and exact. Indeed, Torah was an established sacred text – a scripture – many centuries before Jesus’ time. As a concise, established and fixed text, Torah most certainly was the master version of the story told to Moses by God, the ‘control copy’ so to speak. And as such, for thirty centuries now, Torah has been revered by klal Yisrael [the whole community of observant Jews] as the God-breathed and perfect version of God’s special message.

As the story uttered to Moses by God, Torah reveals who Israel is as a people, where Israel comes from, and what Israel is called by God to do. What’s more, as Jacob Neusner writes in Judaism: An Introduction, through Torah God utters the divine word not only to and about the people of Israel, but to and about all people, and the whole of creation. In Torah, Judaism asserts that we may encounter a “story about eternity,” and anybody living anywhere at any time in human history can engage this story and find herself in it.

For practicing Jews, Torah utters the Word of God which must always be uttered in every age, in every place, by everyone. Torah is not just a story to be remembered. It is a story to be taken personally, it is a story not only to live with, but to live inside. To find oneself on stage inside the unfolding drama told therein is the spiritual calling of the person who engages with Torah. In Torah, observant Jews find themselves as a people and as individuals both literally and literarily inside the master sacred story of God and all things.

The Torah says the story of God and his mighty acts of deliverance for his people must be told, retold, and not only that, but lived out in the lives of those people who even today live inside that master story.

The Rabbis

In the first century when Jesus and his followers lived, Judaism had several major divisions. The priestly and aristocratic caste centered its life around the precincts of the Temple in Jerusalem. The revolutionary radicals engaged in violent resistance against Roman rule were called ‘zealots,’ and they moved around as terrorists and guerilla warriors are wont to do. The isolationist holy men, who sought refuge from the corruptions of Jerusalem, fled to the hills and deserts – like the community which produced the Dead Sea Scrolls. And the Jews dedicated to the copying and interpretation of the Bible, and who taught that Jewish life ought to be righteous, in accordance with the Scriptures, were the scribes and the rabbis. Among scribes and rabbis in general was a community of bible teachers specifically referred to as the Pharisees. The Pharisees were righteous interpreters of Scripture, and it was this group which seemed to overlap the most with Jesus and his followers.

Jesus himself is called ‘rabbi’ in the Gospels, and we know that the apostle Paul was trained in the rabbinical school of Hillel, by the famous Pharisee, Rabbi Gamaliel.

Rabbinical Methods

In other words, in the heart of the New Testament we have not only stories about Jesus and his followers. We also have a body of teaching and commentary on the Hebrew Scriptures as well, by Jesus and his followers, done in the classical rabbinical style. So what is the rabbinical method of engaging with Scripture?

Classical rabbinical interpretation of Scripture is generally thought to begin around the time of Jesus, with the great Rabbi Hillel. Rabbi Hillel formulated a set of seven rules for the interpretation of Scripture. His rules applied to biblical interpretation in areas of Jewish legal questions. The rabbis were primarily concerned that Jewish people live righteous lives in accordance with the Scripture. They sought to answer the question, “How should observant Jews obey the commandments of Torah?” In the Gospels we encounter the essence of this pursuit as the Pharisees are frequently seen to be asking Jesus what sorts of behaviors are ‘lawful.’ Bible scholars have quite easily discovered how all seven of Hillel’s rules may be seen at work in the teachings of Jesus and his followers. Of course, and again, this is not surprising since Jesus was called ‘rabbi’ and the apostle Paul was a student of Hillel’s greatest disciple Rabbi Gamaliel.

First, the primary stance of classical rabbinical interpretation of the Bible is that the Word of God in the Bible is “omnisignificant”—there is no detail in the text, no matter how small it might seem, which is meaningless. As one third century rabbi said, Simeon ben Lakhish, in Torah “there are verses which are worthy of being burnt,” yet even they are the perfect and meaning-filled word of Torah. As such, though parts seem obsolete, or empty of currency, this is an illusion – the meaning is simply obscured from the reader’s eyes.

Second, this disposition that the Bible is omnisignificant, the rabbis believed that the Bible always bears meaning for each person who searches it. Rabbi Akiva, who died around 135 CE, taught that the “Law is no empty thing.” His point was that if a verse seemed empty of meaning, it was the reader himself who was empty.

Rabbi Akiva’s teaching was that if a reader searching the Scriptures could not connect with it, the deficiency was with the reader, not the Bible. The job of the seeker after God in reading the Bible, according to the values of classical rabbinical teaching, is to make the biblical word connect to you.

Third, the rabbis believed the Bible was a cryptic document whose true meaning is not easily discerned from a surface reading of the text. One has to go deep into the text with special skills and wisdom. Fourth, while difficult to understand and interpret, at the same time the Bible is a perfect document, without contradiction, inconsistency or superfluity. In other words, the text is as it should be. The assumption which arises from this second point is that those parts of the text which seem erroneous, or contradictory, or inconsistent, or superfluous are blessed opportunities for interpretation. And fifth, the rabbis believed that the Scriptures are of divine origin. While this is not precisely articulated, it is entirely believed.

Given these assumptions about Scripture, that it is literally filled with meaning, for all readers in every time and place, and that it requires a lot of hard work to struggle and engage with the text in order to connect to those meanings, and that the text itself is also to be honored as it is, and not dismissed, changed, or ignored, the work of the rabbis was ongoing and extensive. The rabbinical work of wrestling with the Word of God in the Bible is reminiscent of the biblical story of Jacob, who spent all night wrestling with a messenger from God, before becoming blessed and having God change his name to, “Israel,” or “he who struggles with God.”

In general terms, the hard work of wrestling with Scripture is called midrash. Midrash is helpful for Christians as they seek to engage with the Bible, and not only as a long ago text, but as a means through which a living and active Word of God may connect to them, today.

The Rev. Samuel Gregory (greg) Jones serves on the board of his alma mater, the General Theological Seminary. He is rector of St. Michael's Raleigh, and author of Beyond Da Vinci (Seabury Books, 2004). He blogs at fatherjones.com.


Friday Daily Office

But as for me, I have trusted in you, O LORD. *

I have said, "You are my God.

My times are in your hand; *

rescue me from the hand of my enemies,

and from those who persecute me.

Make your face to shine upon your servant, *

and in your loving-kindness save me." Psalm 31:14-16

The sand
of my life
runs through
my days
each grain
holding
a moment
in time-
holy, eternal.

Witnesses to
the Resurrection

Daily Reading for June 2 • The Martyrs of Lyons, 177

The word “martyr,” derived from the Greek martus or “witness,” was originally applied to the first apostles as witnesses of Jesus Christ’s life and, especially, of his resurrection. Slowly it came to be associated with those Christians who had suffered hardship for their faith and eventually was limited to those who suffered death. Martyrdom became the ultimate symbol of faithful Christian discipleship and thus of Christian holiness. More than this, the tranquil acceptance of martyrdom was an affirmation of the believer’s faith in Christ’s promise of victory over death and of resurrection for all who accepted the good news of God’s salvation.

Martyrdom literature underlined the virtue of sacrifice, imitation of Christ, and the cost of allegiance to Christ, and resistance to an unquestioning acceptance of surrounding cultural norms. The cult of martyrs was also the beginning of a more general devotion to saints in Christianity. Martyrs, because united with God, could now intercede for believers on earth. Festivals were instituted to mark their deaths (or “heavenly birthdays”) and this began a liturgical calendar of saints in the Christian Church.

From A Brief History of Spirituality by Philip Sheldrake (Blackwell Publishing, 2007).

Saturday Daily Office

"Weeping may spend the night,*

but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30


Evening darkens,
grief knocks at my door
and moves in for the night.
With the dawn
I pack his bags
and busy myself in life.



from Streams of Mercy by Ann Fontaine

The Circle Dance

Daily Reading for June 3 • Trinity Sunday

When Nicodemus comes to see Jesus, he comes at night, which is probably the writer’s way of saying that he was in the dark or didn’t get it. Nicodemus is interested in Jesus and what he’s teaching, but he can’t get past his usual way of seeing things. “How can I be born again?” he asks. “I’m already a grown-up.” But as Jesus always seems to be doing, he tells Nicodemus that if he wants to meet God, he’s going to have to let go of those old understandings and see things in a new way. “The wind/spirit blows where it wants to,” he answers Nicodemus, “and you can hear it, but you’ll never know where it came from or where it’s going.” God is always doing more surprising things than we can imagine, right in our midst, if we’re willing and ready to notice.

That’s probably the biggest hint we get about the Trinity—God is always more, and more mysterious and surprising, than we can imagine. The early theologians talked about the three in one as a circle dance—God who creates, the human face of God, and the way God continues to come into our lives, unbidden and unexpected. We experience God in different ways because God is most fundamentally relational.

About fifteen years ago theologian and Roman Catholic nun Sandra M. Schneiders wrote a famous paper entitled, “God Is More Than Two Men and a Bird.” We may use the language of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Old man, young man, the dove or the bird. But it’s just language—it hints at, or points toward, the ways in which we experience God, but it can never fully describe God.

What Nicodemus learns is that if he thinks he knows who God is and what God is all about, then he’s several cards short of a full deck. He cannot predict what the fullness of God is like from just the few cards he has. He has to be willing to let go of his fixed and unchanging ideas. He has to be willing to engage the Spirit and be surprised. We discover God in wrestling with what the Spirit brings—the very wind blows us off our secure footing.

From “Finding God in the Differences” in A Wing and a Prayer by Katharine Jefferts Schori. © 2007. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

On View: The Father's Embrace by Ruth Councell as seen in Art and Faith - A Spiritual Journey at Episcopal Church and Visual Arts

God the Trinity of Love

Daily Reading for June 4

God is Love, Lover, and Beloved.

An ancient Sufi mantra.

Our countercultural Prayer Book

By Derek Olsen

The 1979 American Book of Common Prayer offers us a vision—one of many possible visions—of what the Christian life can look like. It’s a vision of a life lived in liturgical time, grounded daily by adaptations of monastic hours of prayer at morning, noon, evening, and night, punctuated by Eucharists on Sundays and Holy Days, of the great transitions—entrance into the church, coming of age, commitment, and death—lived in the midst of Christian community. It’s a life centered in the Spirit, steeped in the psalms, yet spacious enough for people who live in the world with families, jobs, responsibilities. And yet—it’s not easy. It’s a vision; it’s rarely reality.

The basic pattern found in our prayer book is not new to us, of course, but has been handed down for centuries. This pattern, this vision, has been (and is) at the heart of every prayer book of every Anglican church—and it comes from a yet older source. It represents the vision of the great monastic tradition that extends from St. Anthony of Egypt through John Cassian most clearly and concisely captured by St. Benedict and lived by thousands upon thousands through the ages. It’s a vision of a life of Christian service bolstered by liturgical prayer and spirituality.

The difficulty, the tension, of holding a life of prayer together with a life of work is not new to our generations either. Rather, the monastic tradition from its inception struggled with the balance between Benedict’s great tripod: work, prayer, and study. Sometimes they succeeded; sometimes they strayed. And the reform movements—the Cistercians, the Carthusians, the Trappists, and so forth—were all efforts to correct the balance, to keep the tradition centered in Christ.

Our prayer book sets before us a vision. Our challenge is to embrace the vision, to take it into our lives, to conform our lives to its pattern that it may draw us deeper into the life of God and the mind of Christ. It’s not easy—but neither are we on our own. The Spirit speaks to us in many ways, including through the lessons of the past, offering a monastic wisdom for a modern world. From that storehouse of experience I’d like to offer three disciplines.

Stability

The discipline of stability flies in the face of our current consumer culture. The consumer culture mentality tells us that we should not be satisfied with anything less than what we want when we want it; if you’re not completely satisfied, go somewhere else, do something else. The monastic mentality puts formation—a process that occurs slowly over time—in the foreground. It reminds us that growth flows from grounding—being grounded in relationships, in communities, and in practices. (Speaking of relationships and communities, there is a series of long posts that could be written on stability in relation to local church communities, global ecclesial bodies, and Christian family life—but that’s for another day…)

Stability in regard to the prayer book vision of life means finding a pattern and dwelling inside of it. It means discipline and constancy. My perennial temptation is to be a liturgical wanderer, always looking for the next neat liturgy or form of prayer—but stability draws me back. Stability insists that whatever my other pursuits my true home is fixed for only then will it shape and mold me. It means committing to a set of liturgies not until I get tired of it, or until I find the next new one, but for a space of time measured in seasons and years.

Stability is praiseworthy—but it can’t work on its own. Stability unmonitored can turn to stagnation. Alternatively, stability may be counter to our spiritual nourishment if we fall into a toxic environment or practice. To be life-giving, stability must be governed by the next discipline:

Obedience

If stability is counter-cultural, this one doesn’t follow too far behind. We don’t want other people telling us what to do, especially in a realm like religion and spirituality. After all, don’t we know what we need better than anyone else?

Well, actually…

I ‘m constantly amazed at the almost daily verification of the simple truth that humans have a boundless capacity for self-deception. We think we know why we do what we do—but we are black-belt masters in the arts of rationalization and self-justification. Why do we do the good that we do? Is it from pure altruistic motives like we tell ourselves—or for what we get out of it…like that little thrill of pride at observing what spiritual and holy people we are? The counter to our own efforts at self-deception is obedience, to turn the reins over to another not caught within our internal web of justifications but one who, seeing the web with compassion, can teach us to use it to our spiritual advantage.

In the monastery it is the abbot. For we who live outside monastic walls, it’s a bit more difficult. A spiritual director, a confessor to whom you can bare your soul, these must take the place of the abbot for us. Sometimes your parish priest can fill this role—but not all have the training or experience, and another person may serve as a better guide. (Your diocese may have a listing of trained spiritual directors in your area—try the website or give them a call…) Your spiritual director can guide you as you seek a liturgical rhythm, pushing you when you need it or cautioning you from too heavy a load.

Sometimes a group of trusted friends who make a covenant to follow the same practices and to meet to discuss the joys and struggles can fill this place. Obedience, then, is not necessarily to one person but to the group and its common discipline. A classical model is provided by that famous priest who strove to be “Anglican in earnest”—John Wesley—with his rules for the united societies.

Stability and Obedience are disciplines with a purpose. They open up the space for the third:

Conversion of Life

Stability of place and liturgy with a skillful guide is beneficial—only when we open ourselves to it. The best, most spiritual environment in the world will not draw our souls to God if we refuse to let go. The Spirit moves as it wills, but we must look for signs of its passing and feels its breath on our face and heart.

The best of liturgies, the most poignant of Scriptures, remain only words on the page if we do not put them into practice. Those who criticize liturgical prayer as an empty piling of words are not wrong if we are not engaging those words, rolling them around within us, and embodying them to the world. This is the call of conversion of life—to not just see the footsteps of Christ but to follow them, to tread the way of the cross.

Our received common wisdom tells us that the monastic vows are poverty, chastity, and obedience—and the common wisdom is half right. These are the vows of the friars, the mendicant orders like the Franciscans and Dominicans who arose in the 12th century. The older vows, the vows of Benedict, are these three: stability, obedience, and conversion of life. As they have grounded monastic life for centuries, these same disciplines offer grounding for we who seek to live into the vision of Christian possibility presented by our prayer book.

Derek Olsen is completing a Ph.D. in New Testament (with a healthy side of Homiletics) at Emory University. .His reflections on life, liturgical spirituality, and being a Gen-X dad appear at Haligweorc.

Our soul is a made trinity

Daily Reading for June 5

Not only are we made in his image and likeness, but the whole workings of our redemption, the way we walk in and towards God, is Trinitarian. Truth sees God, and wisdom beholds God, and of these two comes the third: that is a holy marvelous delight in God, which is love. For where truth and wisdom truly are, there too is love flowing from them both, and all is of God’s making; for he is the endless sovereign truth, endless sovereign wisdom, endless sovereign love—unmade.

And so was my understanding led by God to see in him and understand, to learn and to know of him that our soul is a made trinity, like to the unmade blessed Trinity, known and loved from without any beginning; and in the making it is oned to the Maker.

From the Revelation of Love by Julian of Norwich, quoted in Wisdom of the Cloister, compiled by John Skinner (Image Books, 1999).

Tuesday Daily Office

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!' When he saw them, he said to them, 'Go and show yourselves to the priests.' And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, 'Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?' Then he said to him, 'Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.' Luke 17:11-19 (NRSV)

I would have thanked you but:

1.my dinner was burning

2. my kids were crying

3. my business needed me

4. I didn't have any note cards

5. I didn't want to embarrass you

6. I thought you knew

7. I was tired

8. I was so excited

9. I forgot.

From Streams of Mercy

Wednesday Daily Office

Though the cords of the wicked entangle me, *

I do not forget your law.

At midnight I will rise to give you thanks, *

because of your righteous judgments.

I am a companion of all who fear you *

and of those who keep your commandments.

The earth, O LORD, is full of your love; *

instruct me in your statutes. Psalm 119:61-64


Bound yet free
Love unties the knots


from Daily Office

God the Trinity

Daily Reading for June 7

God made a covenant with us. The word covenant means “coming together.” God wants to come together with us. In many of the stories of the Hebrew Bible, we see that God appears as a God who defends us against our enemies, protects us against dangers, and guides us to freedom. God is God-for-us.

When Jesus comes a new dimension of the covenant is revealed. In Jesus, God is born, grows to maturity, lives, suffers, and dies as we do. God is God-with-us.

Finally, when Jesus leaves he promises the Holy Spirit. In the Holy Spirit, God reveals the full depth of the covenant. God wants to be as close to us as our breath. God wants to breathe in us, so that all we say, think, and do is completely inspired by God. God is God-within-us. Thus, God’s covenant reveals to us how much God loves us.

From Bread for the Journey: A Daybook of Wisdom and Faith by Henri J. M. Nouwen (HarperSanFrancisco, 1997).

Thursday Daily Office

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, ‘In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” ’ And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?’ Luke 18:1-8 (nrsv)

is the widow
The Judge
knocking on the door
of my unjust heart

From Streams of Mercy

God in three persons

Daily Reading for June 8

The Fathers of the church saw an analogy of the image of God in three persons in the original nuclear family: Adam, Eve and Seth. In spite of all the problems and limitations of this analogy it allows some insights which may give us a better understanding of human relations. The human family as image of God shows us that God is the mystery of love—and a fruitful love—and that God’s Trinitarian being is not closed in on itself but is fulfilled by surrendering itself and giving itself freely out of the richness of its immanent being. Moreover, if the woman, man, and child are images of God on earth, then eternal paternity, maternity, and infancy are revealed to us in the Triune God. Femininity and infancy, then, have an assured place in the divine mystery.

From “Reflections on the Trinity” by Maria Clara Bingemer, in Through Her Eyes: Women’s Theology from Latin America, edited by Elsa Tamez (Orbis Books, 1989).

Columba of Iona

Daily Reading for June 9 • Columba, Abbot of Iona

Let me bless almighty God, whose power extends over sea and land, whose angels watch over all.
Let me study sacred books to calm my soul; I pray for peace, kneeling at heaven’s gates.
Let me do my daily work, gathering seaweed, catching fish, giving food to the poor.
Let me say my daily prayers, sometimes chanting, sometimes quiet, always thanking God.
Delightful it is to live on a peaceful isle, in a quiet cell, serving the King of kings.

A prayer of St. Columba, quoted in Holy Companions: Spiritual Practices from the Celtic Saints by Mary C. Earle and Sylvia Maddox. © 2004. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

Turning to God

Daily Reading for June 10 • The Second Sunday after Pentecost

What motivates us to begin to follow the Christian path? Here we find that motives cluster around three major features of Christianity that attract many people: God’s power, goodness, and wisdom. Some people are motivated to turn to God because they seek help with various kinds of distress; others are drawn by the hope of nourishment for a hunger that nothing can satisfy; still others are attracted by the understanding of themselves and their world given by the Christian vision. Even in those cases in which one of the three motives is primary, the others may be significantly operative as well.

Throughout the ages, the most familiar motive that has led people to look to God for help is various kinds of distress. Supernatural power is sought in the face of external dangers such as diseases, storms and droughts, military invasions, and death. At a deeper level supernatural power is sought because of a destructive addiction, or as in the case of Augustine, inability to control one’s passions.

By and of itself relief from suffering does not establish that there is a God, but it is a powerful motive for belief in God. Supernatural relief has always been regarded as a reason to be committed and grateful to God. The account of the people of Israel is a witness to us—an invitation—to consider walking the path they have walked because, among other things, they have found guidance for life and relief in their distress.

From Spiritual Theology: The Theology of Yesterday for Spiritual Help Today by Diogenes Allen (Cowley Publications, 1997).

Blessed are the poor

Daily Reading for June 11 • St. Barnabas, Apostle

Is poverty abysmal or blessed? One of the most famous lines in the Gospels is Jesus’ beatitude: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (Luke 6:20). Through the ages, Christians have been puzzled by what Jesus meant.

Many people act as if death is the worst thing that can happen to one, and pain the most tragic, but they are not. More to be feared are lovelessness, apathy, self-centeredness, or dread. But in our society, so often it seems that what we fear most of all is impoverishment and its companions: exclusion, ridicule, stigma, coercion, or early death. Poverty in spirit may refer to the characteristics in which people—whether they are materially deprived or not—do not rely on material provisions for their security and sense of self. The spiritually poor may be more “totally at the disposition of the Lord.” Dealing with harsh conditions of impoverishment sometimes creates a kind of intimacy with one’s own limits that deepens the soul. It can even create joy. Kahlil Gibran’s phrase is often quoted because it is often found to resonate with people’s experience: “The deeper sorrow has carved into your being, the more joy you can contain.” So the poor in spirit are “blessed” or happy—and this blessedness has a stable core that neither ridicule nor penury can rock.

From What Can One Person Do? Faith to Heal a Broken World by Sabina Alkire and Edmund Newell. © 2005 by Church Publishing, Inc. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Embracing poverty

Daily Reading for June 12

Voluntary and involuntary poverty are interconnected. On the one hand, true “liberation” is found by voluntarily renouncing the things of this world, by accepting real suffering and utter dependence on God. For instance, Christians have often chosen to give up their possessions and to embrace poverty as a path to spiritual intimacy. The voluntary poverty of monks, nuns, and other Christians remains a powerful reminder of the spiritual liberation this state of life can bring.

Yet, on the other hand, liberation is also to be found in the good things of this life, in being freed from poverty, oppression, and disease; in becoming educated and empowered and fulfilled; in working alongside God for the coming of God’s reign.

Wealthy Christians (among others) are obliged to enable others to avoid involuntary extreme poverty. All persons, rich and poor, must also consider whether or not to seek out and embrace poverty voluntarily at a personal level. Finally all persons, including the impoverished, are to seek spiritual blessedness and union with God in any state of life—and in this regard the materially poor may be ahead of others.

From What Can One Person Do? Faith to Heal a Broken World by Sabina Alkire and Edmund Newell. © 2005 by Church Publishing, Inc. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Poverty is not sanctity

Daily Reading for June 13

Two final points need to be made to counter a sentimental understanding of poverty to which people sometimes appeal. First, poverty is not sanctity. It goes along with all moods. Depravity and viciousness are found among all; so too gentleness and prayerfulness. Second, extreme poverty is distinct from the elegant simplicity of life that many seek. It is harsh, burdensome, and not generally desirable. Yet those who live in these conditions at times flourish with amazing generosity, hospitality, and faith, and challenge our own overdependence upon material comforts and our own fear of material impoverishment. We have much to learn from them. As the theologian Dorothee Soelle writes, “From the poor of Latin America I learn their hope, their toughness, their anger, and their patience. I learn a better theology in which God is not Lord-over-us but Strength-in-us.”

From What Can One Person Do? Faith to Heal a Broken World by Sabina Alkire and Edmund Newell. © 2005 by Church Publishing, Inc. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Basil the Great

Daily Reading for June 14 • Basil the Great, Bishop of Caesarea, 379

A perfect illustration of Basil’s methodology is the analogy he draws between the life cycle of the caterpillar-butterfly and Paul’s teaching on the resurrection body. For most Greeks, the idea of a resurrected body made little sense philosophically, religiously, or physically. How, many wondered, could a body that had decayed be raised from the dead? How could this type of change actually take place? The mechanics of resurrection seemed an impossibility. Basil responded by encouraging his listeners to observe more closely the many creatures, such as the caterpillar, who demonstrate this kind of metamorphosis in their life cycle. The lesser surely can illustrate the greater.

From Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers by Christopher A. Hall (InterVarsity Press, 1998).

Plain bread

Daily Reading for June 15 • Evelyn Underhill, 1941

God gives Himself mainly along two channels: through the soul’s daily life and circumstances and through its prayer. In both that soul must always be ready for Him; wide open to receive Him, and willing to accept and absorb without fastidiousness that which is given, however distasteful and unsuitable it may seem. For the Food of Eternal Life is mostly plain bread; and though it has indeed all sweetness and all savour for those who accept it with meekness and love, there is nothing in it to attract a more fanciful religious taste. All life’s vicissitudes, each grief, trial or sacrifice, each painful step in self-knowledge, every opportunity of love or renunciation and every humiliating fall, have their place here. All give, in their various ways and disguises, the heavenly Food. A sturdy realism is the mark of this divine self-imparting, and the enabling grace of those who receive.

From Abba by Evelyn Underhill (Morehouse-Barlow, 1981).

The love of benevolence

Daily Reading for June 16 • Joseph Butler, Bishop of Durham, 1752

That which we more strictly call piety, or the love of God, and which is an essential part of a right temper, some may perhaps imagine no way connected with benevolence: yet surely they must be connected, if there be indeed in being an object infinitely good. Human nature is so constituted, that every good affection implies the love of itself; thus, to be righteous, implies in it the love of righteousness; to be benevolent, the love of benevolence; to be good, the love of goodness; whether this righteousness, benevolence, or goodness, be viewed as in our own mind, or in another’s: and the love of God as being perfectly good, is the love of perfect goodness contemplated in a being or person. Thus morality and religion, virtue and piety, will at last necessarily coincide, run up into one and the same point, and love will be in all senses ‘the end of the commandment.’

From “Sermon II: Upon Human Nature” in The Works of Bishop Butler, Volume 1, quoted in Love’s Redeeming Work: The Anglican Quest for Holiness, compiled by Geoffrey Rowell, Kenneth Stevenson, and Rowan Williams (Oxford, 2001).

Right practice

Daily Reading for June 17 • The Third Sunday after Pentecost

I am not suggesting that anyone learn more about world religions in order to subvert them. Sacred truth is a very deep well into which human beings have been lowering leaky buckets for millennia. The more we learn about what other traditions have fetched up, the more we learn about our own. It is helpful, for instance, since Jesus was a Jew, to know that Judaism has no doctrine of original sin, and that salvation is conceived of as life lived in obedience to Torah. Heaven and hell have never been very lively concepts for most Jews, who find the Christian focus on the world to come more than a little irrelevant. The point of human life on earth, as any son or daughter of Torah can tell you, is to assist God in the redeeming of this world now.

It is also helpful to know that most eastern religions have very little to say about God at all. The Buddha taught that theological speculation is about as useful as wondering what kind of arrow has struck you in the chest. You may measure it if you want to. You may develop theories about where it came from, who shot it, and what kind of wood it is made from, but all in all your time would be better spent deciding how you are going to remove it from your body. The focus is not on orthodoxy—right belief—but on orthopraxis—right practice—which strikes me as a refreshing alternative to the heresy trials that have plagued my own denomination in recent years. Sin, in Buddhist teaching, is ignorance about the true nature of reality, and salvation is a matter of removing the arrow, or waking up.

From Speaking of Sin: The Lost Language of Salvation by Barbara Brown Taylor (Cowley Publications, 2000).

Mud season

Daily Reading for June 18 • Bernard Mizeki, Catechist and Martyr in Rhodesia, 1896

The example of Jesus, and the experience of mud season, remind me of a harsher truth: to be reborn, we first must die. The way to Jerusalem lies through mud. Dying, like mud, can take many forms, but every death, in the sense I mean, is a letting go. We let go of ambition, of pride, of ego. We let go of relationships, of perfect health, of loved ones who go before us to their own deaths. We let go of insisting that the world be a certain way. Letting go of any of these things can seem the failure of every design, the loss of every cherished hope. But in letting them go, we may also let go of fear, let go our white-knuckled grip on a life that never seems to meet our expectation, let go our anguished hold on smaller selves our spirits have outgrown. We may feel at times that we have let go of life itself, only to find ourselves in a new one, freer, roomier, more joyful than we could have imagined. All of us, young and old, soon and late, find our way to the mud, the season of our terrible and certain joy. Let us bring to it all the spirit we can muster.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Wildlife preserve

Daily Reading for June 19

Wild animals don’t have to accept themselves. They can simply be. As thinking animals, we must work to create some space for our wild natures, to give them room to roam. Whether keeping our awareness on the breath as we meditate, on our bodies’ rhythm as we run, on our sensations as we sink our hands in bread dough, our practice anchors us in our bodies, takes us further into our wild selves. With time such practice begins to open a space within us. Call it a wildlife preserve, a space where our wild selves can breathe while our judging, criticizing, worrying, doubting minds are kept safely on the other side of the fence. With practice we find ourselves living more and more inside this preserve, a place we come to recognize as our true home.

We practice wildness so that we may live more fully and constantly in the midst of anima, in the midst of soul. Wildness will not save us from misfortune. Fear, doubt, grief all lie in wait to strike and seize us as before. Only now their grip will not be so tight or last so long. In life’s thicket we will have created a clearing for our wild selves. And in that clearing, in the face of confusion and worry, in the face of failure and loss, in the face of death itself, we will lift our noses to the moon and sing.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Washing dishes

Daily Reading for June 20

For much of my life I’ve lived contentedly by a few simple rules: don’t track mud in the house, take care of your own, help others, do as little harm as you can, change your oil every three thousand miles. But maybe enlightenment is simpler than we think. I’ve been told that religion boils down to two beliefs: first, that there is something of ultimate significance in the universe; second, that there is a way of being connected to it. Each of the world’s religions offers a distinct way of connecting, and each of us must find his or her own way in to ultimate significance. Prayer, meditation, and selfless service are all honored methods. The Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh has taught me that, if done right, washing dishes can serve as well.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Speak out of love

Daily Reading for June 21

I have on my office door these words from an accomplished Indian yogi: “Before speaking, consider whether it is an improvement upon silence.” The man who wrote them once went nineteen years without speaking, setting a standard I can’t hope to meet. Yet his words remind me that when we do speak, we must speak truth. Even more important, because truth so often eludes us, we must speak in kindness. In fact, we might amend the yogi’s saying to read, “Before speaking, consider whether you speak out of love.” If we could learn always to speak out of love, we could change everything.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Aid and comfort

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The vessel of character

Daily Reading for June 22 • Alban, First Martyr of Britain, c. 304

What’s needed is a structure for our spiritual life, some container to keep our growing awareness from dribbling away. As John Tarrant writes, in The Light Inside the Dark, “Everything new needs to be held, needs a place into which it can be born.” The name of this container is “character,” he writes. Character, Tarrant says, is the vessel in which to hold “our swirling selves.” We do not have a say in all that befalls us, but we do have a say in the shape of our own character.

In our daily work, in our roles as caregivers and providers, in our manner of receiving gifts and good works of others, we can be disciplined or not, mindful or not, responsible and responsive or not, but always our actions both shape and are shaped by the vessel of character. And traditionally, religious faith and spiritual practice are thought to strengthen this vessel, creating a sound container for our developing relationship to mystery, suffering, and the Divine. Life throws things at us that we cannot predict and cannot control. What we can control is who we are along the way.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Living at the edge

Daily Reading for June 23

This experience of living at the edge is not so extraordinary as it may sound. We have all had it. Perhaps you have sat with someone who was near death, and found yourself drawn into her inner radiance, into a place where pain and fear give way before a lucid awareness of the nearness of life’s source. Or perhaps you have listened to a friend who has just lost a loved on, and heard in his voice, through the grief and exhaustion, a wondrous and wondering connection to life’s deepest levels. Perhaps you have had it while giving birth or witnessing a birth, when we seem to rise out of our bodies and become winged things, hovering over all we love. Or you have had it in those ordinary moments, when watching a child butter a slice of bread or a crow settle in a field, and suddenly nothing else matters and you fell like removing your shoes and bowing down.

We all have within us this capacity for wonder, this ability to break the bonds of ordinary awareness and sense that though our lives are fleeting and transitory, we are part of something larger, eternal and unchanging.

From Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life by Philip Simmons (Bantam Books, 2000).

Genuinely human

Daily Reading for June 24 • The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Once we owned a cat named Nora who seemed to have set up shop at a middling level on the ascent to God. Placid and fat, Nora spent her mornings lying in a pool of sunlight near the back door, and sometimes she gazed into the distance as if she were seeing something of great importance hidden from the rest of us. Then she would pad away from the door to dip water from the toilet or present us with a hair ball. For these reasons I decided that Nora had arrived at the feline equivalent of the illuminative way. The chief characteristic of the illuminative way is a heightened awareness of God’s presence which comes about as the capacities of one’s personality come habitually to be directed toward what is most real and genuinely human.

From From Image to Likeness: The Christian Journey into God by William A. Simpson (Continuum, 1997).

Arriving in the desert

Daily Reading for June 25 • The Nativity of Saint John the Baptist

To the biblical mind the wilderness is a holy place in which one may enter into communion with God. It is a place where one can clearly sense God’s sustenance, and, more importantly, it is a place where one learns to turn habitually toward God. We may arrive in the desert by different paths. We may journey there of our own accord, or we may be led there by the hidden work of the Holy Spirit. Once we arrive, however, the geography is the same. The clear and penetrating light of the desert requires that we remove the layers of fear and pretense we thought we needed in the land of unlikeness and recognize these as the unnecessary baggage they are. Now is the time for honesty. The desert demands that we discover who we really are and that we persevere in this knowledge. There is, in short, only one rule for the desert pilgrim: God created you in his image, seek his likeness.

From From Image to Likeness: The Christian Journey into God by William A. Simpson (Continuum, 1997).

Desert solitude

Daily Reading for June 26

Solitude is one of the defining features of the wilderness. When one is alone with God two distinct opportunities emerge. In the first place, one can be more attentive to the work of the Holy Spirit inside when freed a while from competing, outside concerns. Oftentimes, God chooses to be subtle, and his subtle activity can go unnoticed if one’s world is full of jabbering televisions or idle chatter. In solitude one comes to know God as an engaging, and often witty, companion on the day’s journey rather than as an occasionally-glimpsed, stern presence. In this way, solitude often has a unique sweetness and beauty.

As one passes through the wilderness on the way back to God, one discovers a new depth and efficaciousness at prayer. Previously one might have thought that prayer consisted in saying things to God and that it trafficked only in words and mental images. In the desert the words and images fall away, and one is left with a simple awareness of God’s presence. The subtle presence of God is as palpable as that of a friend or lover, and yet one does not see God. Rather, it is as though for a moment in the corner of one’s eye one glimpses God passing. One feels caught up in God’s presence and transformed by it.

From From Image to Likeness: The Christian Journey into God by William A. Simpson (Continuum, 1997).

Keeping vigil

Daily Reading for June 27

Another of the standard tools of the desert is the vigil. Keeping a vigil consists in changing one’s pattern of sleeping and using tiredness or the stillness of the night to foster a quiet attentiveness to God’s presence. The Christian tradition recommends vigils to those who are discouraged or in danger of giving up on the journey back to God. A vigil is an exercise in hope. Simply doing it is an act of faith, and where there is faith love and hope are also present. By waiting one hopes, and in hoping one loves.

Recently, I discovered a new way of keeping a vigil. Sometimes before dawn I drive up Lookout Mountain and sit with my back to a cold rock to watch the sun rise over Denver. At first, I sit in the dark watching a lake of lights shimmer all the way out to the horizon. Then a thin line of blue sky appears in the east. Sometimes I notice a herd of deer grazing below me in the half-light. The sun abruptly breaks over the horizon. The deer pause a moment and look back toward it sensing the first touch of its warmth, and I notice that my hand casts a shadow. I am substantial again and ready to return home for a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee.

From From Image to Likeness: The Christian Journey into God by William A. Simpson (Continuum, 1997).

The church's book

Daily Reading for June 28 • Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons, c. 202

The awareness of the communal nature of exegesis was particularly highlighted in the early church’s encounter with the Gnostics, hermeneutical lone rangers who claimed to have received in secret both revelation and interpretive insight. Irenaeus, the Gnostics’ great opponent, rejected the possibility of secret revelation and interpretation because the meaning of Jesus and the narrative leading up to his coming can only be discovered and explained in the community he founded, the community whose very existence culminates the biblical narrative’s plot structure. In effect, as Robert Jenson explains, “It is the church that knows the plot and dramatis personae of the scripture narrative, since the church is one continuous community with the story’s actors and narrators, as with its tradents, authors, and assemblers.”

For the fathers, then, hermeneutics is not an objective science that can be practiced by any scholar within any context. Rather hermeneutics in Christ becomes a spiritual, communal, interpretive art. It can be safely, wisely, and fruitfully exercised only by those whose minds and hearts have been soaked in and shaped by the gospel itself—within the Christian community’s reflection, devotion, and worship.

From Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers by Christopher A. Hall (InterVarsity Press, 1998).

Gospel agenda

Daily Reading for June 29 • St. Peter and St. Paul, Apostles

Debate within the church about who is eligible to be “in” and who must be excluded is nothing new. It was a main feature even of the very first years after Christ. That first debate was so long ago, and so decisively settled, that it is hard to realize today just how difficult a question it really was: Can Gentiles be included in the Christian church?

The argument that Gentiles should follow the law, from what seemed to be a clear and unquestionably correct reading of Scripture, could have appeared unassailable, except that it was met by the experience of the working Holy Spirit in the midst of this new community of faith. Jewish Christians spoke up on behalf of the Gentile Christians, speaking about what they had seen in their lives. They had seen evidence of the presence of the Holy Spirit in the lives of the Gentile believers, just as they had seen it in their own. After much personal internal struggle, the apostle Peter baptized Gentile believers without requiring them to first be circumcised. When challenged about this, he defended his actions in this way: “If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?”

Now it is time for me, as a straight person, to speak up. I can bear witness, like Peter, to seeing the work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of those whom the church has traditionally said were “unclean” and “unfit” for consideration as members of Christ’s body. I can bear witness to seeing and experiencing in my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters lives of repentance, forgiveness, and transformation through Jesus. It is up to you, and to me, to be like Peter and not hinder God but to welcome God’s grace in the lives of others.

From “The Gospel Agenda” by Susan Buchanan, in Episcopal Life / New Hampshire Episcopal News (October 2006).

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