Daily Reading for June 1 • The Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary (transferred)

Children have the fathomless ability to believe anything; it is one of their most beautiful traits. They haven’t made up their minds yet about what is and what is not possible. Children have few fixed preconceptions about reality. If someone tells a child that under a particular bush is a magic place, they will search for it when no one is looking.

As children we lived in a summery green world where everything was possible, where in the end the villain or wicked witch was always slain and the princess rescued from her tower. Like a child, Mary quietly and simply believed. She didn’t fully understand the angel’s message, but she understood who God was, and she remembered the last thing the angel Gabriel said to her: “For nothing is impossible with God.” Her “yes” turned the course of history.

Nevertheless, in spite of her great faith, Mary still needed reassurance. Perhaps this is why the angel told her about Elizabeth, her elderly relative who was also inexplicably pregnant. It wasn’t until she saw Elizabeth, who astonishingly already knew about Mary’s condition, that it all came together in Mary’s young mind, and then she sings this song with all her heart. Even for Mary, the Mother of the Christ, her “yes” was not blind faith. Rather, like us, she had to ponder and work through her mind all that the angel had told her would come to pass. . . .

It is a beautiful thing to see individuals today who, like Mary, consciously attempt not to put God into the box of their predetermined understanding of who God is and what God does or does not do, but who simply instead choose to “believe.” The promise from Mary in her song is that those who do not restrict God’s activity in their lives will never be the same. The ability to believe is the most striking childlike quality. In Lewis Carroll’s children’s classic Through the Looking Glass, the White Queen advises Alice to practice believing six impossible things before breakfast every day. We would all do well to take the same advice.

From Songs in Waiting: Spiritual Reflections on the Middle Eastern Songs Surrounding Christ’s Birth by Paul-Gordon Chandler. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

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

Many other martyrs suffered in various parts of the empire under the reign of Marcus Aurelius. Among the most famous of these are the martyrs of Lyons and Vienne, in the south of France (or Gaul, as it was then called), where a company of missionaries from Asia Minor had settled with a bishop named Pothinus at their head. The persecution at Lyons and Vienne was begun by the mob of those towns, who insulted the Christians in the streets, broke into their houses, and committed other such outrages against them. Then a great number of Christians were seized, and imprisoned in horrid dungeons, where many died from want of food, or from the bad and unwholesome air.

The bishop, Pothinus, who was ninety years of age, and had long been very ill, was carried before the governor, and was asked, “Who is the God of Christians?” Pothinus saw that the governor did not put this question from any good feeling; so he answered, “If thou be worthy, thou shalt know.” The bishop, old and feeble as he was, was then dragged about by soldiers, and such of the mob as could reach him gave him blows and kicks, while others, who were further off, threw anything which came to hand at him; and, after this cruel usage, he was put into prison, where he died within two days.

The other prisoners were tortured for six days together in a variety of horrible ways. . . . The firmness with which they bore these dreadful trials gave courage to some of their brethren, who at first had agreed to sacrifice, so that these now again declared themselves Christians, and joined the others in suffering. As all the tortures were of no effect, the prisoners were at length put to death. . . . The heathen were not content with putting the martyrs to death with tortures, or allowing them to die in prison. They cast their dead bodies to the dogs, and caused them to be watched day and night, lest the other Christians should give them burial; and after this, they burnt the bones, and threw the ashes of them into the river Rhone, by way of mocking at the notion of a resurrection. For, as St. Paul had found at Athens, and elsewhere, there was no part of the Gospel which the heathen in general thought so hard to believe as the doctrine that that which is “sown in corruption” shall hereafter be “raised in incorruption;” that that which “is sown a natural body” will one day be “raised a spiritual body.”

From Sketches of Church History: From AD 33 to the Reformation by the late Rev. J.C. Robertson, M.A., Canon of Canterbury (SPCK, 1904). http://www.ccel.org/ccel/robertson/history.iii.v.html

Daily Reading for June 3 • The Martyrs of Uganda

As we meet other cultures, we understand that the gospel challenges our own culture, and we strive to live and offer an authentic gospel undistorted by that background. Missioners also realize, however, that Christ may be expressed authentically through their own cultural personality as well. Just as we discover the gospel in a different way through Christians from other cultures who come to us, so our own individual and cultural perspective on the gospel can be a source of discovery for those who live in other countries and cultures. This invites freedom in the Spirit to be who one truly is, for, as St. Irenaeus declared, “The glory of God is a person fully alive.” As we oscillate between critical self-examination and joyful freedom, we can trust that our hearers and co-workers will be able through the Spirit to discern the difference between real gospel and cultural baggage. And, in fact, they usually do!

“Our first task in approaching another people, another culture, another religion,” wrote Max Warren, “is to take off our shoes, for the place we are approaching is holy. Else we may find ourselves treading on men’s dreams. More serious still, we may forget that God was here before our arrival.”

From Horizons of Mission by Titus Presler, volume 11 of The New Church’s Teaching Series (Cambridge, Mass.: Cowley Publications, 2001).

Daily Reading for June 4 • The First Book of Common Prayer, 1549

There are suggestions that Cranmer was engaged in drafting services in the late 1530s, but nothing was published. As early as 1536 Hugh Latimer, in a sermon to Convocation, had called for the services of baptism and matrimony to be conducted in English. In 1538 it was stipulated that a Bible should be placed in every church, that the creed, Lord’s Prayer, and Ten Commandments should be recited in English, and that no one should be admitted to communion without having learnt them. A surviving draft form of the Daily Office seems to date from this period: the service was in Latin, but there was already an emphasis on the people being instructed by the readings, which suggests that vernacular scripture reading was envisaged.

Two issues were uppermost in all these moves: comprehension and the formation of a Christian people and society. In his preface to the Great Bible of 1540, Cranmer speaks of the good effect of Bible reading as a social as well as an individual good. . . .In 1543, Tudor rationalization ordered that ‘this realm shall have one use’: the rite of Sarum. But thus far it was simply one medieval rite supplanting others. 1544 saw the publication of the first service in English: the Litany. . . . Other reforms, small but significant, were ventured during the last years of Henry’s reign. . . . Most important, however, was the ‘Order of the Communion’, which made provision for vernacular communion devotions within the Latin Mass, consisting of exhortations, confession and absolution, and what would come to be known as the Comfortable Words and the Prayer of Humble Access, along with a formula to be used at the administration of communion. Communion was now to be given in both kinds; that is, lay people were allowed to receive the consecrated wine as well as the bread. There was also provision for additional consecration of the cup, perhaps because the small chalices of the time were inadequate for congregational use, or to allow for communities unfamiliar with the practicalities. All these items, except for the last, would later appear in the Prayer Book.

While the country was becoming accustomed to the new communion devotions, Cranmer and his colleagues were completing a draft of the first complete English Prayer Book. In September 1548 there was a conference of representative senior clergy at Chertsey Abbey. It is hard to imagine this group examining the whole text of the new Prayer Book; rather, the meeting seems to have been intended to reach consensus on points of principle ahead of a debate in Parliament. Later, in a letter to Queen Mary, Cranmer avers that the conference was unanimous in agreeing to adopt the vernacular. Unfortunately, unanimity in eucharistic doctrine was more difficult to achieve, and disagreement between the divines spilled into public view in the House of Lords debate in December. Nevertheless, the new Prayer Book was passed by Parliament on 21 January, and was required to be in use by Whitsunday, 9 June 1549.

From “Cranmer and Common Prayer” by Gordon Jeanes in The Oxford Guide to the Book of Common Prayer: A Worldwide Survey, edited by Charles Hefling and Cynthia Shattuck (Oxford, 2006).

Daily Reading for June 5 • Boniface, Archbishop of Mainz, Missionary to Germany and Martyr, 754

We will turn for a time to the general manner of the saint’s daily contemplation and the long continued abstemiousness of his frugality: that, mounting higher and higher, we may more readily relate concisely and briefly his lofty works, and follow to the end the study of his venerable life, and explore it more precisely; and that by a just moderation of the balance Boniface may become an example for us of eternity and a manifest pattern of apostolic learning. Through the examples of the saints, he happily ascended the steep path of heavenly knowledge, and, going on before the people as a leader, he went into and opened the gate of the Lord our God, into which the righteous shall enter.

And from his childhood even to decrepit old age, he particularly imitated the wisdom of the departed fathers, inasmuch as he daily and continually committed to memory the words of the prophets and apostles, written with holy pen, and the glorious passion of the martyrs, put in writing, and also the gospel teaching of the Lord our God; and, in the words of the apostle, whether he ate or drank, or whatsoever he did, he always rendered unto God with heart and voice the commendation of praise and the highest degree of devoted jubilation, according to the word of the psalmist: “I will bless the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.” For to such an extent was he inflamed with ardent desire for the Scriptures, that often he applied himself with every effort to imitating them and listening to them; and the matters which were written for the instruction of the people, he paraphrased and preached to the people with wonderful eloquence of speech and very shrewdly added parables. He had such a right proportion of discretion, that neither was the energy of his rebuke lacking in gentleness, nor the gentleness of his preaching in energy; but as the zeal of energy kindled him, so the gentleness of love made him mild. Accordingly, to the rich and the powerful and to yeomen and slaves he employed an equal discipline of holy exhortation, so that neither did he fawn upon the rich and flatter them, nor did he oppress slaves or yeomen by severity; but, in the words of the apostle, he was made all things to all men, that he might gain all.

From the Life of Saint Boniface by Willibald, translated by George Robinson (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1916).

Daily Reading for June 6

“Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration [the breathing-in] of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord.” (BCP 355)

That collect is what Christian spirituality is all about. To withstand this scrutiny and to live in the presence of this God to whom all hearts are open, we must ground our self-understanding and our growing self-knowledge in humility, the neglected virtue that simply means knowing who we are in the sight of God, knowing our place in the order of things. Such knowledge results, of course, in respect for the otherness of all persons.

More importantly, it fills us with awe at the otherness of God. God is God. I am not God. I can and must work diligently at my spiritual fitness program; asceticism, after all, is rooted in the concept of athletic training, not self-torture. But ultimately, I must rely on the action of the Holy Spirit. I still remember my relief when I learned in Systematic Theology I that it is God who saves us, not we ourselves. Awareness of this basic and quite simple fact makes all our ministries, lay and ordained, much more manageable. It also means that we are not alone in this work of living in and into the Spirit. It is not—ultimately—up to us.

From The Practice of Prayer by Margaret Guenther, Volume 4 of The New Church’s Teaching Series (Cambridge, Mass.: Cowley Publications, 1998).

Daily Reading for June 7 • Trinity Sunday

How did the early Christians begin to make sense of the Trinity? They saw that this new encounter with God was not the same as meeting God in three different roles or activities, just as I can be the celebrant of the eucharist, the coffee hour host, and an exasperated parent all on the same Sunday morning. For them the Trinity was not a divine game of peek-a-boo in which a playful deity peeps out at them from behind different masks (now the ancient fellow with the beard, now the infant, now the bird, and so on) until God tires of the whole charade. No, when these Christians met God they were swept up into God’s own inner life of mutual relationships. The Word who becomes incarnate and the Spirit who moves over the chaos of human hearts are not temporary patch-up efforts on the part of a bumbling deity who had not quite counted on human recalcitrance. Instead, Word and Spirit are eternally enacting the communion who is God, and into this communion Christians are drawn.

From Mysteries of Faith by Mark McIntosh, Volume 8 of The New Church’s Teaching Series (Cambridge, Mass.: Cowley Publications, 2000).

Daily Reading for June 8

We receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, then, that we may know. Faculties of the human body, if denied their exercise, will lie dormant. The eye without light, natural or artificial, cannot fulfill its office; the ear will be ignorant of its function unless some voice or sound be heard; the nostrils unconscious of their purpose unless some scent be breathed. Not that the faculty will be absent, because it is never called into use, but that there will be no experience of its existence. So, too, the soul of man, unless through faith it have appropriated the gift of the Spirit, will have the innate faculty of apprehending God, but be destitute of the light of knowledge. That Gift, which is in Christ, is One, yet offered, and offered fully, to all; denied to none, and given to each according to the measure of his willingness to receive; its stores the richer, the more earnest the desire to earn them. This gift is with us unto the end of the world, the solace of our waiting, the assurance, by the favours which He bestows, of the hope that shall be ours, the light of our minds, the sun of our souls. This Holy Spirit we must seek and must earn, and then hold fast by faith and obedience to the commands of God.

From On the Trinity, Book II, by Hilary of Poitiers. http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf209.ii.v.ii.ii.html

Daily Reading for June 9 • Columba, Abbot of Iona, 597

For indeed after the lapse of many years, when St. Columba was excommunicated by a certain synod for some pardonable and very trifling reasons, and indeed unjustly, as it afterwards appeared at the end, he came to the same meeting convened against himself. When St. Brenden, the founder of the monastery which in the Scotic language is called Birra (Birr, in King’s County), saw him approaching in the distance, he quickly arose, and with head bowed down reverently kissed him.

When some of the seniors in that assembly, going apart from the rest, were finding fault with him, and saying: “Why didst thou not decline to rise in presence of an excommunicated person, and to kiss him?” he replied to them in this wise: “If,” said he, “you had seen what the Lord has this day thought fit to show to me regarding this his chosen one, whom you dishonour, you would never have excommunicated a person whom God not only doth not excommunicate, according to your unjust sentence, but even more and more highly esteemeth.”

“How, we would wish to know,” said they in reply, “doth God exalt, as thou sayest, one whom we have excommunicated, not without reason?”

“I have seen,” said Brenden, “a most brilliant pillar wreathed with fiery tresses preceding this same man of God whom you treat with contempt; I have also seen holy angels accompanying him on his journey through the plain. Therefore I do not dare to slight him whom I see foreordained by God to be the leader of his people to life.” When he said this, they desisted, and so far from daring to hold the saint any longer excommunicated, they even treated him with the greatest respect and reverence. This took place in Teilte (Taillte, now Teltown, in Meath).

From the Life of St. Columba, written by Adamnan, ed. William Reeves (Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas, 1874). http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/columba-e.html

Daily Reading for June 10 • Ephrem of Edessa, Deacon, 373

Part of the interest in the salvific potential of textuality resulted from the affirmation of embodiment through the incarnation. Bodies were analogous to texts, a theme already explored in the hymns of the Syriac poet Ephrem. . . . Not only did God “put on a body,” but in accommodating himself to human limitation, God also “put on metaphors,” clothing himself in a garment of words. Scripture figured as a type of divine embodiment. Scripture’s linguistic description of God is an accommodation to our own boundedness in language. The thirty-first of Ephrem’s Hymns on Faith has as its refrain: “Blessed is He who has appeared to our human race under so many metaphors.” Ephrem explains,

“We should realize that, had He not put on the names
of such things, it would not have been possible for Him
to speak with us humans. By means of what belongs to us did He draw close to us;
He clothed Himself in language, so that he might clothe us
in His mode of life. He asked for our form and put this on,
and then, as a father with his children, He spoke with our childish state.”

For Ephrem, language figures not a sign of the Fall but as a marker of human creatureliness. For this reason, in scripture, God is clothed in language, in the materiality of writing.

From Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the early Christian East by Derek Krueger (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004).

Daily Reading for June 11 • St. Barnabas, Apostle

The only reason that the twelve were willing to have a face-to-face meeting with Saul at all was that their major contributor, the “son of encouragement,” vouched for him. Luke does not offer a reason why Barnabas suddenly appeared, nor why he stood up for Saul. It really does not matter. The fact is there probably would be no “apostle Paul” if Barnabas the encourager, Barnabas the steward of others, had not stood up for him.

Barnabas did more than simply welcome the newcomer. He also nurtured the giftedness and leadership potential in Saul. . . . When the apostles heard of the dramatic success in Antioch, they decided to send a representative, an ambassador, to check on things and provide a connection between the new believers and the Jerusalem leadership. Their choice in a representative was—no surprise here—Barnabas. What is more surprising is that on his way to his new assignment, this bridge-builder took a detour to Tarsus, where he sought out the very person the apostles earlier avoided: Saul. For Barnabas, it was not enough that Saul had met the Jerusalem leaders; now it was time to put him to work. His decision once again illustrates excellent stewardship on Barnabas’s part, for he obviously saw in this cocky upstart the kind of leadership gifts that could be well utilized in a new church plant.

The story of Barnabas thus develops along a fascinating line, from making a substantial financial gift and entrusting it to the apostles for the support of the community, to reaching out to the newcomer that no one else wants to include, to nurturing Saul’s leadership so that he in turn moves from newcomer to useful worker. Later in Acts, we find Barnabas doing one of the hardest things of all: he takes second place to Paul’s leadership, as Luke’s phrase “Barnabas and Saul” becomes “Paul and Barnabas.” A true steward, Barnabas displays a humility that may not have come naturally, but was necessary if he really wanted to see the new communities built up in the most effective ways. He could choose to cling to the leadership role bestowed on him by the apostles and accepted by the believers in Antioch. Instead, he continues to do what he has done from the start: discern the need, and then do whatever it takes to meet that need—even if it means laying his ego, like his possessions, at the feet of Christ.

From Transforming Stewardship by C.K. Robertson, a volume in the series Transformations: The Episcopal Church of the 21st Century, edited by James Lemler. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 12 • Enmegahbowh, Priest and Missionary, 1902

Leader: For our ancestors who built nations and cultures; who thrived and prospered long before the coming of strangers; for the forfeit of their lives, their homes, their lands, and their freedoms sacrificed to the rise of new nations and new worlds.
All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: For the wealth of our lands; for minerals in the earth; for the plants and waters and animals on the earth; for the birds, the clouds and rain; for the sun and moon in the sky and the gifts they gave to our people that enabled the rise of new world economics. All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: For oceans, streams, rivers, lakes, and other waters of our lands that provide bountifully for us; for clams, lobsters, salmon, trout, shrimp, and abalone; for the pathways the waters have provided.
All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: For the friendship that first welcomed all to our shores; for the courage of those who watched their worlds change and disappear and for those who led in the search for new lives; for our leaders today who fight with courage and great heart for us.
All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: For the strength and beauty of our diverse Native cultures; for the traditions that give structure to our lives, that define who we are; for the skills of our artists and craftspeople and the gifts of their hands.
All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: For the spirituality and vision that gave our people the courage and faith to endure; that brought many to an understanding and acceptance of the love of Christ, our Brother and Savior.
All: We offer a song of honor and thanks.

Leader: Accept, O God, Creator, our honor song, and make our hearts thankful for what we have been given. Make us humble for what we have taken. Make us glad as we return some measure of what we have been given. Strengthen our faith and make us strong in the service of our people, in the name of our Brother and Savior, Jesus Christ, your Son, in the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

From “A Native American Thanksgiving for the Americas and Their People” offered at the National Cathedral in 1992 and quoted in The Wideness of God’s Mercy: Litanies to Enlarge Our Prayer, revised and updated edition, compiled and adapted by Jeffery Rowthorn with W. Alfred Tisdale. Copyright © 2007. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 13 • Basil the Great, Bishop of Caesarea, 379 (transferred)

The titles given to the Holy Spirit must surely stir the soul of anyone who hears them, and make one to realize that they speak of nothing less than the supreme Being. Is he not called the Spirit of God, the Spirit of truth who proceeds from the Father, the steadfast Spirit, the guiding Spirit? But his principal and most personal title is the Holy Spirit.

To the Spirit all creatures turn in their need for sanctification; all living things seek him according to their ability. His breath empowers each to achieve its own natural end.

The Spirit is the source of holiness, a spiritual light, and he offers his own light to every mind to help it in its search for truth. By nature the Spirit is beyond the reach of our mind, but we can know him by his goodness. The power of the Spirit fills the whole universe, but the Spirit gives himself only to those who are worthy, acting in each according to the measure of faith.

From the treatise “On the Holy Spirit” by Basil the Great, Bishop of Caesarea [379], in Readings for the Daily Office from the Early Church, edited by J. Robert Wright. Copyright © 1991. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 14 • The Second Sunday after Pentecost

Yes, it is true: a mustard seed is indeed an image of the kingdom of God. Christ is the kingdom of heaven. Sown like a mustard seed in the garden of the virgin’s womb, he grew up into the tree of the cross whose branches stretch across the world. Crushed in the mortar of the passion, its fruit has produced seasoning enough for the flavoring and preservation of every living creature with which it comes in contact. As long as a mustard seed remains intact, its properties lie dormant; but when it is crushed they are exceedingly evident. So it was with Christ; he chose to have his body crushed, because he would not have his power concealed. . . .

Christ became all things in order to restore all of us in himself. The man Christ received the mustard seed which represents the kingdom of God; as a man he received it, though as God he had always possessed it. He sowed it in his garden, that is in his bride, the Church. . . . In the Church it became a great tree putting forth innumerable branches laden with gifts. And now you too must take the wings of the psalmist’s dove, gleaming gold in the rays of divine sunlight, and fly to rest for ever among those sturdy, fruitful branches. No snares are set to trap you there; fly off, then, with confidence and dwell securely in its shelter.

From a sermon of Peter Chrysologus, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament II, Mark, edited by Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1998).

Daily Reading for June 15 • Evelyn Underhill, 1941

The narrow limits within which even the physical world is accessible to us might warn us of the folly of drawing negative conclusions about the world that is not seen. We cannot penetrate far into the reality of any life other than our own. The plants and the animals keep their own strange secret; and it is already a sign of maturity when we recognize that they have a secret to keep, that their sudden disclosures of beauty, their power of awakening tenderness and delight, warn us that here too we are in the presence of children of the One God. With what a shock of surprise, either enchantment or horror, we meet the impact of any truly new experience; its abrupt reminder that we do really live among worlds unrealized. Our limited spectrum of colour, with its hints of a more delicate loveliness beyond our span, our narrow scale of sound: these, we know, are mere chunks cut out of a world of infinite colour and sound—the world that is drawing near, charged with the unbearable splendour and music of the Absolute God. And beyond this, as our spiritual sensibility develops, sparkles and brief intoxications of pure beauty, and messages from the heart of an Unfathomable Life come now and then to delight us: hints of an aspect of His Being which the careful piety that dare not look over the hedge of the paddock will never find.

From The School of Charity: Meditations on the Christian Creed by Evelyn Underhill (London: Longmans, Green and Co Ltd., 1934).

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

In general a man ought not to do other people’s duty for them; for their duty was appointed them for their exercise; and besides, who will do it in case of his death? Nor has a man any right to raise in others such a dependance upon him as that they must be miserable in case of his death, tho’ whilst he lives he answers that dependance.

* * * * *

Hobbs’ definition of Benevolence, that ’tis the love of power, is base and false, but there is more of truth in it than appears at first sight; the real Benevolence of men being, I think, for the most part, not indeed the single love of power, but the love of power to be exercised in the way of doing good; that is a different thing from the love of the good or happiness of others by whomsoever effected, which last I call single or simple Benevolence. How little there is of this in the world may appear by observing, how many persons can bear with great tranquillity that friend or child should live in misery, who yet cannot bear the thought of their death.

Fragments from the autographs of Bishop Butler, now in the library at the British Museum. Found at http://www.gutenberg.org/files/20801/20801-h/20801-h.htm

Daily Reading for June 17

Being attentive to God in prayer does not eliminate the distractions and conflicts of life, nor the hard work and responsibilities we share with so many others, but it does put these experiences solidly within the perspective of our relationship with God. We sort them out by looking at the reality of God and respond to them as we are able to discern God’s desires for the world. Our response becomes a compassionate and responsible activism wherein we are freed from self-interest through the clear, constant, and transforming experience of God. Contemplation and meditation make shared action with God possible. This was a constant desire in Jesus’ life. He called those who were willing to follow him to a mutual vocation of compassion. The fullness of who we are will unfold in our emptiness and become manifest in our work. Just as the dawn cannot be rushed, so is the dawn of our fullness in God.

The energy within personal prayer and action flows in two directions. Action, as well as contemplation, is a context in which we meet God and become aware of God’s desires for ourselves and for the world. Our active lives give a sense of integrity to our contemplative experience by preventing it from becoming self-centered and bringing it to life in our work and relationships. Contemplation in a world of action does not mean blending together two completely separate aspects of our lives. These two always work together even though we may emphasize one or the other at different times or even neglect one for the other. They are as inseparable as breathing in and breathing out in one harmonious rhythm that makes us fully alive.

From Come and See: The Transformation of Personal Prayer by David Keller. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

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

The most celebrated of the Mozbieker cultural brokers from the Western Cape is surely Bernard Mizeki, the Anglican missionary martyred during the Shona uprising of 1896. Mizeki was born as Mamiyeri Mizeki Gwambe near Inhambane in about 1860. He came to Cape Town, via Lourenço Marques, some sixteen years later under the Government labour importation scheme run by Monteiro. He initially lived in the old slave quarters on the edge of town with several of his compatriots, and spent his working hours loading and unloading steamships in the docks. Friends from Inhambane soon found Mizeki more congenial work in the suburb of Rondebosch where he worked as a gardener, domestic servant and stablehand. Working for an English colonist, he followed the tradition of his elders and took the name Barnes; but this did not mean that he abandoned his old ways, for he continued to occupy a hut in Rondebosch with other men from Inhambane. It was these compatriots who introduced Bernard to the Anglican night school they attended in Woodstock.

In the mid-1880s this school fell under the aegis of the Cowley Fathers who had established a mission at St Philip’s church on Sir Lowry Road. They also organised tea-meetings in an attempt to draw men like Mizeke away from the canteens and brothels that were the major sources of diversion for the working classes. At these events the men danced to a familiar music played on xylophones, instruments that were particularly appreciated in the Inhambane area. The social work pursued by the Cowley Fathers was taken further when a hostel for black workers was established on land between Sir Lowry Road and the sea. St Columba’s boarding hostel became a centre of social life and a site of instruction for Bernard and his friends. It offered him a space in which to express himself, develop his confidence and readopt his original name, Mizeki. It also provided the Inhambane community with a space in which to socialise and worship together. In 1886 Bernard was baptised at St Philip’s along with his close friends from home, Thomas Masrai and John Ntinge. The next year others from Inhambane, such as George Marinyana and Tom Sihaya, enjoyed the same Christian rite of inclusion.

Bernard’s growing evangelical enthusiasm soon won him a job at St. Columba’s. This brought him to the immediate attention of the Cowley Fathers who, when he manifested a scholastic ability, entered him as a dayscholar at Zonnebloem College. Mizeki spent five years at Zonnebloem where he excelled in religious studies and showed an aptitude for arithmetic. When Bishop Knight-Bruce arrived in Cape Town in search of volunteers to work in the new See of Mashonaland, Bernard was about thirty years old. He had spent more than half his life in Cape Town and was a respected member of the Church. Eager to take the Gospel into new lands, he embarked for Beira with Knight-Bruce’s party in April 1891. The Bishop found him “an excellent linguist and charming companion” and an “invaluable” aid who soon established his own mission station near chief Mangwende’s village in Central Mashonaland. Mizeki developed a working relationship with Mangwende, even marrying one of his granddaughters early in 1896. But at a time when the Anglican Church was closely tied to the government of the British South African Company, Mizeki was viewed with suspicion by many members of the local community. On the outbreak of the Shona rebellion, this black missionary became an early target. Bernard Mizeki was killed by rebels in his village on 18 June 1896 and his body was never recovered.

From “Culture and Classification: A History of the Mozbieker Community at the Cape” by Patrick Harries, in Social Dynamics 26:2 (2000): 29-54. Found at http://web.uct.ac.za/depts/cas/sd/Articles_Vol26no2/harries.pdf

Daily Reading for June 19

The act of keeping close to the marriage of our work and vocation is the act of returning day after day, not only to the workplace, but to the physical and philosophical foundations that keep it alive in our hearts and minds as we grow and mature and even as we age and die. To be faithful to a work, we must welcome its vulnerabilities and difficulties as well as the many gifts it bestows. We must find the foundation upon which the marriage of work stands and grows and then through the difficult cycles of human life constantly tend it and nourish it. At the end we may have to have to courage to tend it only through memory, but that memory will be rich with remembered voices and shared endeavor. If we push away the difficulty in work while young or never turn to face it in midlife and hope for safety in the abstract, we will find, as we do in a real marriage, that we are left deserted in our old age, by memory, by those who were never touched by our generosity. We will find ourselves in the company of abstracts, those merely being paid to sit by our bedside, and very far, physically and imaginatively, from those to whom we should have given ourselves more readily.

From The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship by David Whyte (Riverhead Books, 2009).

Daily Reading for June 20

The truth about being human is that all we have, all we are, all we ever will be are gifts from God. At the offertory we are invited to reflect on our attitude toward “things.” We are constantly challenged in Scripture not to allow things to become our “god.” It is astonishing how easy it is to become so attached to things that it distorts our view of reality. Imagine a situation where a child running around a beautiful, well-furnished home knocks over a prized object, which then shatters into a thousand pieces. It is true that the object may be of sentimental or monetary value and perhaps irreplaceable. But from the viewpoint of healthy and authentic living, it is still a “thing,” which is, before God, of no value compared to the child. To yell at the child, to sink into a deep depression, or to allow the moment to damage the rest of the evening or the week would be tragic. Or take another illustration. At a delightful restaurant with a group of friends celebrating a wedding anniversary, the waiter accidentally dribbles a little red wine on your new outfit. The angry words to the waiter, coupled with real distress about the new outfit being wrecked, destroy the evening. Or we return to our car in a parking lot and find that some inconsiderate driver has dented the car door and then driven away without leaving a note. We so easily lapse into depression or rage that preoccupies us and inflicts misery on those around us. In each of these cases things have assumed a disproportionate place in our lives. We make furniture, gadgets, clothes, and cars into the things that matter instead of friends and family. We allow problems with things to damage our relationships with those around us. . . .

If we are going to have things, then we are required to make sure that our possessions do not distort our values. At the offertory in the service we symbolically recommit to focusing on what matters. A healthy life is one where we make sure that our propensity to shop is kept in check. We should never allow things to matter so much that they assume a disproportionate status in our affections. As we write out the check for the offertory plate, we remind ourselves of what matters much more than things. And we give God thanks and praise for the health of friends and family and the gift of life for another day.

From Liturgical Life Principles: How Episcopal Worship Can Lead to Healthy and Authentic Living by Ian S. Markham. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

Daily Reading for June 21 • The Third Sunday after Pentecost

When you have to listen to abuse, that means you are being buffeted by the wind. When your anger is roused, you are being tossed by the waves. So when the winds blow and the waves mount high, the boat is in danger, your heart is imperiled, your heart is taking a battering. On hearing yourself insulted, you long to retaliate; but the joy of revenge brings with it another kind of misfortune—shipwreck. Why is this? Because Christ is asleep in you. What do I mean? I mean you have forgotten his presence. Rouse him, then; remember him, let him keep watch within you, pay heed to him. . . . A temptation arises: it is the wind. It disturbs you: it is the surging of the sea. This is the moment to awaken Christ and let him remind you of those words: “Who can this be? Even the winds and the sea obey him.”

From a sermon of Augustine of Hippo, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament II, Mark, edited by Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1998).

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

The unique, the highest proof of love is this, to love the person who is against us. This is why Truth himself bore the suffering of the cross and yet bestowed his love on his persecutors, saying, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” Why should we wonder that his living disciples loved their enemies, when their dying master loved his? He expressed the depth of his love when he said, “No one has greater love than this, than that he lay down his life for his friends.” The Lord had come to die even for his enemies, and yet he said he would lay down his life for his friends to show us that when we are able to win over our enemies by loving them, even our persecutors are our friends.

From Forty Gospel Homiles of Gregory the Great, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament IVb, John 11-21, edited by Joel C. Elowsky (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2007).

Daily Reading for June 23

The kingdom of heaven is all around us, among us, in unsuspected places, in places where we might expect to find it if we look hard enough, and growing in ways we may find distasteful or surprising. A couple of nights ago, a group of young people moved into the next dormitory on the campus of the University of Kent. They were partying quite energetically when I went to bed. The noise woke me up at a quarter to three, and the loud screams and laughter continued until 5 a.m. I think Jesus would say the kingdom of heaven is like that, for their mirth and delight said a great deal about joy and peace, even if I had a hard time joining in. . . .

The kingdom of heaven is like 650 bishops marching through the streets of this city a couple of days ago, insisting that together we can end global poverty if we have the will to do it. . . . The hope of ending poverty is like a mustard seed that can grow into a tree of life large and generous enough to shelter all the people of this world—but it will take lots of us to water and fertilize it.

Where and how do you look for the kingdom of heaven? It will take what is old and what is new—the good stuff from the past and the surprising possibilities of the present. Where will you look in your own life? What treasure do you seek? What old thing must be preserved, and what new insight will be a clue to the kingdom of heaven around us? The struggle to answer those questions goes on throughout our own lives, in the church, and all around us. And the fish don’t have to be sorted until the end of time. So fear not, keep looking, and give thanks when you find a glimpse, no matter whether it sounds like a riot in the wee hours of the morning, or smells pretty fishy.

From “Field of Dreams,” a sermon preached at St. Martin in the Fields, London, 27 July 2008; quoted in Gospel in the Global Village: On the Road with Bishop Katharine by Katharine Jefferts Schori. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

Daily Reading for June 24 • The Nativity of St. John the Baptist

As children of God we are part of God’s ultimate purposes wherever we are. It is a beautiful thing when we as individuals, like Joseph and Zechariah, catch a glimpse of ourselves in the divine picture, seeing our life experiences as part of God’s plan. This perspective is often encountered when reading the autobiographical accounts of those who have undergone great suffering, such as Nelson Mandela, who endured the struggles of apartheid and imprisonment; Elie Wiesel, who survived the Holocaust; and Alexander Solzhenitsyn, who withstood Stalin’s Gulag and exile. Knowing we are involved in God’s purposes enables us to see the deeper meaning of life’s challenges, nurturing a more holistic perspective.

This experience can be likened to finding yourself in a large group photograph taken many years ago. At first, identifying yourself can be difficult. However, when you do locate your face, the memories come back in full force. Seeing the person sitting next to you, and the one three rows in front, you realize how interconnected all our lives were. Every one of us is intricately related to the working out of God’s ultimate purposes. And catching an awareness of how our lives are involved in God’s bigger purposes can provide tremendous meaning and hope in the midst of the hardships life presents.

Zechariah sings that the greatest surprise for him was to see that he was playing a part in the ongoing history of God’s redemptive work in the world. In so doing, he gives us encouragement as to the why and how of all this: it is all “because of the tender mercy of our God.” Again he focuses on the mercy of God, yet now he personalizes this trait of God, referring to it as “tender.” Prior to Zechariah’s song, Luke too placed the event of John’s birth firmly in this context, writing of Elizabeth that “the Lord had shown her great mercy.” And in Zechariah’s song, mercy continues as the foundation of God’s activity in the world—not just to the people of Israel, but also specifically to Zechariah and his wife, Elizabeth. God chose to fulfill the divine ultimate purpose—sending the Messiah—by providing a discouraged couple the greatest encouragement ever. In doing so, our Creator is exemplifying the preeminent divine character traits of mercy and compassion.

From Songs in Waiting: Spiritual Reflections on the Middle Eastern Songs Surrounding Christ’s Birth by Paul-Gordon Chandler. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 25

Humility, Benedict teaches, treads tenderly upon the life around it. When we know our place in the universe, we can afford to value the place of others. We need them, in fact, to make up what is wanting in us. We stand in the face of others without having to take up all the space. We don’t have to dominate conversations or consume all the time or call all the attention to ourselves. There is room, humility knows, for all of us in life. We are each an ember of the mind of God and we are each sent to illumine the other through the dark places of life to sanctuaries of truth and peace where God can be God for us because we have relieved ourselves of the ordeal of being god ourselves. We can simply unfold ourselves and become.

The Tao teaches:
“The best people are like water
They benefit all things,
And do not compete with them.
They settle in low places,
One with nature, one with Tao.”

“Settling in low places,” being gentle with others and soft in our comments and kind in our hearts and calm in our responses, never heckling, never smothering the other with noise or derision is an aspect of Benedictine spirituality that the world might well afford to revisit.

From The Rule of Benedict: Insights for the Ages by Joan Chittister (Crossroad, 1996).

Daily Reading for June 26

I took my coffee out to the porch this morning, putting on my glasses first in case a bird should drop by the birdbath. Instead, a butterfly floated onto the butterfly bush. I have deprived myself of butterflies, I thought sadly. All my life they’ve been dancing in the air, and I’ve had my nose stuck in a book. Even now, I’d be reading the New York Times except that it didn’t come.

Beyond the butterfly bush is a holly tree, higher than the house. Roots, I thought. It has its roots in the earth. The earth holds it stable and straight and strong, the earth feeds it, rain comes to its roots through the earth.

Or is the natural life more like the visible part of the tree? Rooted and grounded secretly, it spreads strong branches on the supporting air, answers sun and rain and wind, embraces in its large courtesy the other lives of birds and butterflies, squirrels and chipmunks and little bright-backed bugs.

Either, or neither, or both. The whole tree lives by the life of God.

And I, planted to grow into a perfect nature, deep and tall and spreading, stunt my branches and wither my roots with malnutrition. In the midst of plenty, I’d rather read a book.

From The Quantity of a Hazelnut by Fae Malania. Copyright © 2005 by Seabury Books, an imprint of Church Publishing. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 27 • Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons, c. 202 (transferred)

If the languages in the world are dissimilar, the power of the tradition is one and the same. The churches founded in Germany believe and hand down no differently, nor do those among the Iberians, among the Celts, in the Orient, in Egypt, or in Libya, or those established in the middle of the world. As the sun, God’s creature, is one and the same in the whole world, so the light, the preaching of truth, shines everywhere and illuminates all men who wish to come to the knowledge of truth. And none of the rulers of the churches, however gifted he may be in eloquence, will say anything different—for no one is above the Master (Matt. 10:24)—nor will one weak in speech damage the tradition. Since the faith is one and the same, he who can say much about it does not add to it nor does he who says little diminish it.

Many barbarian peoples who believe in Christ . . . possess salvation, written without paper or ink by the Spirit in their hearts, and they diligently protect the ancient tradition. . . Those who have believed this faith without letters are “barbarians in relation to our language” (1 Cor. 14:11) but most wise, because of the faith, as to thinking, customs, and way of life, and they please God as they live in complete justice, chastity, and wisdom.

From Against Heresies by Irenaeus, quoted in Irenaeus of Lyons by Robert M. Grant (Routledge, 1997).

Daily Reading for June 28 • The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

When Jesus comes to Jairus’s house, he says to the girl, “Get up,” and then he tells the others to feed her. “Get up” is the way it’s translated here, but it could also be “wake up” or “stir yourself.” The same word is used to speak of raising the dead. If we want healing in this world, we have to stir ourselves to get up and demand it, and expect healing as the proper way of things. We have to touch or move people in a way that lets them feel the suffering of others. We have to believe that healing is possible and do something about it. We may even have to wake the dead in our midst—those who can’t or won’t feel the suffering of so many around this world—and heal them enough to get busy themselves.

You and I have a vision of what the world is supposed to look like, a vision that comes out of the depths of our tradition—the reign of God, where all have enough to eat, all illness is healed, all strife is resolved, and people live together in justice and peace. That vision of shalom is our hope, and it undergirds our faith. God’s vision is stronger than death, and, indeed, after the crucifixion Jesus himself is gotten up to continue that healing work. His command to the community around the little girl is the same one we get: Now, get up—you’ve been healed. Come to the table and eat. But it’s not just a call to those of us gathered here today. It’s a call to the whole world: Get up! Expect and demand the kind of healing God envisions for us all! Go and feed the world!

From “City of God,” quoted in The Gospel in the Global Village: On the Road with Bishop Katharine by Katharine Jefferts Schori. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

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

Our understandings of vocation as individual and corporate response to and expression of relationship with the living God move beyond a matter of compulsive obedience to superior order or an acquiescence to preordained determinism. As in any creative partnership, communication is central to the relationship, and it is vital to vocation and discernment. Commitment to mutuality in relationship entails commitment to a conversational imperative, a free, open disclosure of self to the other, without which intimacy cannot be sustained.

This conversational imperative is in lively evidence in the stories and lives of Moses and the prophets, of Jesus and Paul. In theirs and countless stories related in the scriptures, in Hebrew midrash and Christian patristic writing, in the witnesses of saints, in sermons and songs ancient and modern we experience this lively, living conversation among partners intimately caught up in and bound to committed relationship. . . .

Jesus was at pains to insist that he neither wanted nor had followers, but friends. “I have called you friends,” he explains to his disciples, “because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father” (John 15:15). Those who sought to learn from him would not copy his attitudes and behaviors, but would undertake the more difficult business of plumbing their own depths, exploring and embracing their own selves, and shouldering full responsibility for their very being. Or, as he famously expressed it, they would take up their own cross—a cross that was distinct from his.

This learning process, this discipleship, is dynamic and subject to constant variation, consistent with any relationship between and among living beings. . . . The process of daily, constant learning about self and one’s world is a demanding discipleship and the central activity of discernment. Understood this way, we see that any so-called discipleship that obscures or escapes such learning is not worthy of the name; it is just evasion, denial, busyness, and distraction, and ultimately, destructive dishonesty. True discipleship not only dirties the hands, it breaks the heart, opens the mind, and stretches the nerves, as all good learning does. Yet, paradoxically, it is this very dangerous conversation that constitutes the core of discipleship and the intimate heart of relationship with God.

From Transforming Vocation by Sam Portaro, a volume in the series Transformations: The Episcopal Church of the 21st Century, edited by James Lemler. Copyright © 2008. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Daily Reading for June 30

Glory to you, hidden Son of God,
because your healing power is proclaimed
through the hidden suffering of the afflicted woman.
Through this woman whom they could see,
the witnesses were enabled to behold the divinity
that cannot be seen.
Through the Son’s own healing power
his divinity became known.
Through the afflicted woman’s being healed
her faith was made manifest.
She caused him to be proclaimed,
and indeed was honored with him.
For truth was being proclaimed together with its heralds.
If she was a witness to his divinity,
he in turn was a witness to her faith. . . .
He saw through her to her hidden faith,
and gave her a visible healing.

From the Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron by Ephrem the Syrian, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament II, Mark, edited by Thomas C. Oden and Christopher A. Hall (Downer’s Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1998).