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

Justin was born in Samaria and tells us how he came to Christian faith in a little piece of autobiography which is also a parable of his position in the revelation/reason debate—in fact it may be no more than a parable. He tells us that he travelled to Ephesus for his higher education and had a series of disappointments. He started predictably enough with a tutor in the most influential philosophy of the age, Stoicism, but that tutor could tell Justin nothing about God. . . . Justin had no more luck with an exponent of Aristotle, who was mainly concerned with fixing a fee for his services. . . . A Pythagorean was no help to him, because he demanded that Justin should first become expert in music, astronomy and geometry before contemplating the mysteries which these skills illustrated. Finally Justin went to a Platonist and found satisfaction in what he learned—but then, in a field near the Ephesus seashore, he met an old man who culminated a long conversation by speaking to him of the Hebrew prophets who had foretold Christ. Justin’s journey was complete. His clinching point in the saga was that the wisdom of the prophets was older than that of the Greeks, and in an age which was inclined to see oldest as best, this was the most promising argument open to any exponent of the new faith in Christ. Yet Justin never ceased to wear his philosopher’s cloak (pallium), as distinctive a mark of identity as the modern Christian clerical collar—or perhaps a better analogy would be with the gown and square cap of the properly dressed Oxford don, since to wear the cloak was to make a claim to be a teacher in a school for advanced students. It was also a dramatic and continual visual sign in his everyday life and in his teaching that Justin was committed to the proposition that two traditions might speak as one. Because Justin valued the whole of his spiritual exploration, he was concerned to explain his newly acquired Christian faith to those outside its boundaries in terms that they would understand; he was chief among a series of “Apologists” who, in the second century, opened a dialogue with the culture around them in order to show that Christianity was superior to the elite wisdom of the age.

From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years by Diarmaid MacCulloch (New York: Viking, 2009).

Daily Reading for June 2 • Blandina and her Companions, the Martyrs of Lyons, 177

Martyrdom was, in theory, enjoined upon all, but it also required extreme virtue and courage. One expositor and cautious apologist for martyrdom, Clement of Alexandria, approached the egalitarianism of martyrdom by citing as precedent for early Christian martyrdom the deaths of more ancient and brave people, as evidence of a general human ability, when informed by reason, to strike an attitude of contempt toward suffering in view of a higher or more permanent state of happiness: “Neither, then, the hope of happiness nor the love of God takes whatever happens ill but remains free, although through among the wildest beasts or into the all-devouring fire; though racked with a tyrant’s tortures. Depending as it does on the divine favor, it ascends aloft unenslaved, surrendering the body to those who can touch it alone” (Miscellanies 4.8). Here Clement reflects a culturally elite view of martyrdom, wherein the most highly trained person is the one who can approach a painful death calmly. . . . Perhaps thinking of the story of the mother of the Maccabees, Clement writes, “So the church is full of those, as well chaste women as men, who all their life have practiced for the death that rouses up to Christ. For the one whose life is framed as ours is, may philosophize without education, whether barbarian, whether Greek, whether slave—whether an old man, or a boy, or a woman. For self-control is common to all human beings who have made choice of it.” Clement uses this dictum, Stoic in origin, to orient his discussion of martyrdom, and in particular his views about the relative positions of men and women, divided into superior and inferior in this world by their possession of bodies, but in the next equal because they are all humans and rational. Although part of a larger discussion about the worth and the proper preparation and conditions for martyrdom, his statement can stand here to indicate that already in the late second century an established tradition viewed martyrdom as the common destiny of Christ’s disciples.

From “Martyrdom as Exaltation” by Robin Darling Young, in Late Ancient Christianity, edited by Virginia Burrus, volume 2 in the series A People’s History of Christianity (Fortress Press, 2005).

Daily Reading for June 3 • The Martyrs of Uganda, 1886

If you were to travel in Uganda to the small town of Námugónga, a few miles from Kampala, you would find there at the Anglican Church one of the most bizarre memorials ever erected—it is a large cross, and piled like cordwood beneath the cross are some 25 life-sized ceramic figures, with their heads and shoulders protruding from bundles of wood and cane rods which encase the bodies. The figures memorialize the 13 Anglican and 12 Roman Catholic native converts—most of them young boys—each of whom was wrapped in such a bundle of flammable material and burned alive on a great pyre in Námugónga by the Kabáka (or King) Mwánga in 1886. In all, between May 25 and June 3, as many as 100 native Christian converts were martyred by the Kabáka. . . .

The problem that finally brought matters to a head was Mwanga’s sexual taste for handsome young men and boys whom he enlisted as “pages” at his court. But when those boys and young men were converted to Christianity, they refused to be sexually exploited by the king, and Mwánga viewed that as insubordination. When he returned disgruntled from an unsuccessful hunting trip on May 25, 1886, none of the court pages were willing to greet him and his anger boiled over. . . . The next morning he summoned all his pages. Probably they had anticipated the summons and its outcome, because all the young Catholic catechumens had been baptized that night, and the Anglicans spent the entire night in prayer.

When the pages assembled Mwánga demanded that Christian believers step forward—and they did. Some of the pages’ relatives at court tried to persuade them to renounce Christ, but none would. Mwánga then pronounced the death sentence on a large number of them. Others not condemned to death were led away to be castrated. Further arrests followed during the next week. The Christian boys were tied together in pairs, and then forced to walk twenty-two miles to the place of execution. On Ascension Day, June 3, 1886, the majority of the martyrs were burned alive on the great pyre, Catholics and Anglicans together, each of them with his hands tied and his body wrapped in a bundle of wood and cane stalks. Before they died, they pleaded successfully for the life of a Muslim boy, Abdúl Azíz Buliwádda, who by mistake had been taken with them. . . . There was no wailing or screaming—the only person who wailed was the executioner. He had been forced to kill his own son: one of the boys who died in the fire.

The martyrdoms had the opposite effect from that which the king had hoped. The examples of these young martyrs who went to their deaths singing hymns and praying for their enemies so impressed those who saw or heard about it that before many years had passed, the number of Christian converts in Uganda had multiplied by thousands.

From Stars in a Dark World: Stories of the Saints and Holy Days of the Liturgy by Fr. John-Julian, OJN (Denver: Outskirts Press, 2009).

Daily Reading for June 4 • John XXIII, Bishop of Rome, 1963

Cardinal Roncalli, a former Vatican diplomat enjoying the honourable semi-retirement of the Patriarchate of Venice, was elected John XXIII in 1958 largely because he had few enemies, and because no one involved in the election thought that he could do much harm; he was seventy-six and it was (rightly) thought that he would not enjoy a long period in office. After the last exhausted years of Pius XII, it was sensible to look for a man of peace who would give the Church a chance to find a decisive leader to set an appropriate direction for the future. . . .

The new pope’s ebullience and boundless curiosity, so disconcerting to churchmen conscious of papal protocol, was matched by a shrewd ability to get what he wanted. What he wanted did not coincide with the wish of prominent members of the Vatican’s Curia to defend old certainties without much further discussion. Instead, to the horror of Curial officials, in 1959 he threw everything open to discussion by announcing his intention of calling a new council to the Vatican. . . .In 1962 more than two thousand bishops [arrived] in Rome, with Europe contributing less than half of their number. The bishops had been consecrated from within an ecclesiastical system paranoid about Modernism, but they brought with them a myriad of different practical experiences of what it was to be a Catholic in 1962. . . .

This unprecedented gathering of Catholic leaders listened with fascination to a pope who in his inaugural address spoke excitedly of the providential guidance of the world’s inhabitants to “a new order of human relationships,” and, far from lecturing the world, criticized those “prophets of misfortune” who viewed it as “nothing but betrayal and ruination.” . . . All the defensive draft documents so carefully prepared by the Curia were rejected and replaced with completely different texts. Two crucial agreed documents [Lumen Genium, “The Light of Peoples” and Gaudium et Spes, “Joy and Hope”] have remained central to the council’s legacy—they have provided a springboard for action to some Catholics, an obstacle course to others. . . . The whole statement breathed the happy confidence, already expressed in Pope John’s opening address, that the Church need not fear opening discussion with those outside its boundaries.

From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years by Diarmaid MacCulloch (New York: Viking, 2009).

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

In comparing the eighth-century Ordo XI with the earlier Gelasian Sacramentary that reflects sixth-century liturgical practice, a conflicting tendency is apparent. On the one hand, the eighth-century liturgical revisers show their reluctance to discard venerable rituals and prayers, which terminates in ritual conflation and elaboration. On the other hand, the revised [baptismal] ceremonies, instead of taking place over an extended period of time, are abridged so as to be performed in rapid succession. . . . A question arises about its feasibility in rural settings of Francia and Germania. Ritual simplification is not only conceivable, but necessary, particularly in light of reports from Saint Boniface during his four decades of missionary work.

The English bishop Boniface, evangelizer of the Saxons, was particularly troubled by the lack of a proper ritual of baptism. It is safe to say that the elaborate scrutinies as mentioned in Ordo XI were not a part of missionary baptisms. Regarding the water rite itself, Boniface, writing to Pope Gregory II in 726, asks whether a baptism is valid if the priest omits the traditional questions about the creed. The pope assures him that it was, as long as the baptismal formula was trinitarian in form. In 739, Boniface writes to Pope Gregory III because one of his priests pronounced the baptismal formula in the vernacular. The pope assured Boniface that a vernacular baptismal formula did not invalidate the sacrament. Then in 746 Boniface writes to Pope Zachary to inquire about the case of a priest who baptized “in the name of the fatherland, the daughter and the Holy Spirit” (in nomine patria et filia et spiritus sanciti). The pope responded that as long as the priest intended to baptize as the church desires and did not mean any heresy or error, then the baptism is valid, notwithstanding the ignorance of Latin on the part of the priest.

From “The Conversion of the Nations” by Michael S. Driscoll, in The Oxford History of Christian Worship, edited by Geoffrey Wainwright and Karen B. Westerfield Tucker (Oxford, 2006).

Daily Reading for June 6 • The Second Sunday after Pentecost

As Jesus approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother's only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. (Luke 7:11-17)

The dead man was being buried, and many friends were conducting him to his tomb. Christ, the life and resurrection, meets him there. He is the Destroyer of death and of corruption. He is the One in whom we live and move and are. He is [the One] who has restored the nature of man to that which it originally was and has set free our death-fraught flesh from the bonds of death. He had mercy upon the woman, and that her tears might be stopped, he commanded saying, “Weep not.” Immediately the cause of her weeping was done away.

From Commentary on Luke, Homily 36 by Cyril of Alexandria, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament III, Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just, Jr. (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003).

Daily Reading for June 7 • The Pioneers of the Episcopal Anglican Church of Brazil, 1890

This Mission was begun in 1889 by two young American priests, sent out by the American Church Missionary Society (since merged in the “Board of Missions”). They buried themselves in the interior of Southern Brazil and set themselves to acquire a thorough mastery of the language, and of the modes of thought and life of the people. They soon realized that if the Brazilians were to be won to the faith as their Church had received it, it must be through the Brazilians, and they threw their strength into training the best men among their converts. This meant slow progress at first, but rapid development afterwards. The Mission was visited after several years’ labour first by the Bishop of West Virginia, who confirmed 150 candidates and ordained four Brazilian deacons, and afterwards (by request) by Bishop Stirling of the Falkland Islands in 1897, when on his way to the Lambeth Conference. He administered Confirmation to 160 more candidates, and ordained three Brazilians to the priesthood, and his successor, paying a friendly visit in 1905, found that his memory was cherished with affection and reverence, the link with the historic Anglican Communion being understood and valued. Bishop Kingsolving was consecrated in 1900, and from that time the mission has had its own independent life. . . .

It may be noted that not only was this work in Brazil approved by the whole American Church, but it was cordially recognized by a resolution of the Lambeth Conference in 1897, bidding Godspeed to the reform movement, and expressing the hope that it would continue to develop on Catholic lines. . . . The presiding Bishop at the Baltimore General Convention of 1892 said, in his last public utterance, with reference to Church work in Mexico and Brazil, “Those people lie there upon the highway of the nations, bruised and wounded, fallen among thieves, stripped of religious rights and like to die, and we must go down in the spirit of the Good Samaritan with the oil and wine to bind up their wounds and give them succour. Is it said it has not been our custom? The sooner we make it our custom the better.” And another Bishop stated his conviction “that the canons of the undivided Church cannot wisely be applied to the present dissevered condition of Christendom.”

From “The Protestant Episcopal Church of the U.S.A. Mission to Brazil, or the ‘Brazilian Episcopal Church,’” in The Anglican Church in South America, edited by E. F. Every, Bishop of the Falkland Islands (1902-1910). A BiblioLife book.

Daily Reading for June 8 • Roland Allen, Mission Strategist, 1947

If a traveler returns from visiting our Indian or Chinese Christians the first thing that he tells us is that he was delighted to find himself worshipping in a church where the language indeed was strange and the worshippers of another colour, but that in every other respect he felt quite at home. He found the same sort of ornaments, the same service, the same Prayer Book, the same hymns with which he was familiar. If a Chinese or an Indian convert comes to England he finds, of course, that England is not the Christian country which he imagined it to be, and that the majority of people do not observe many of the rules which he has been taught to keep, but within the circle of the Church he finds the same thing with which he was familiar in his own home. In all the outward forms of religion there is a practical uniformity. . . .

No emissaries from Europe or America ever return to accuse some native church of violating the law and the customs. No bishop ever hastens home to claim for the church of his foundation spiritual liberty, and to assert its right to disregard a rubric. None ventures to maintain the equality of one church with another, as equally with it a member of the Spirit-bearing body. A rule is made in London by a Conference of Western bishops and is applied indiscriminately to China and to Africa, and none dares to say that the Chinese have already settled this question for themselves in their own way, and that, though their decision may not approve itself to Englishmen, still it is certainly not a sufficient reason for breaking communion. . . .

The unity, therefore, which we maintain is practically uniformity of custom. It is essentially legal in its habit. When questions arise they are settled by the missionaries, and the missionaries have but one test and that test is agreement with Western practice. . . . By this means it must be admitted that we have succeeded in maintaining a kind of unity. Schism and heresy are almost unknown in our missions. But at what a price have we succeeded! If there has been no heresy, there has been no prophetic zeal. If there has been no schism, there has been no self-realization. If there has been no heresiarch, there has been no Church Father. If there have been no schismatics, there have been no apostles. If there has been no heresy, there has been no native theology. If there has been no schism, there has been no vigourous outburst of life.

From Missionary Methods: St. Paul’s or Ours? by Roland Allen (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1962).

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

Alone with none but Thee, my God,
I journey on my way;
What need I fear, when Thou art near,
O king of night and day?
More safe I am within Thy hand,
than if a host did round me stand.

My destined time is fixed by Thee,
and death doth know his hour.
Did warriors strong around me throng,
they could not stay his power;
no walls of stone can man defend
when Thou Thy messenger does send.

My life I yield to Thy decree,
and bow to Thy control
in peaceful calm, for from Thine arm
no power can wrest my soul.
Could earthly omens e’er appal
A man that heeds the heavenly call?

The child of God can fear no ill,
His chosen dread no foe;
we leave our fate with Thee and wait
Thy bidding when we go.
Tis not from chance our comfort springs,
Thou art our trust, O king of kings.

“Columba’s Affirmation,” quoted in A Celtic Primer: The Complete Celtic Worship Resource and Collection, edited and compiled by Brendan O’Malley. Copyright © 2002. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

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

There is One Being, who knows Himself and sees Himself.
He is like the sea, in that all creation moves in Him.
As the waters beset the fish in all their movements,
The Creator is clad with everything which is made,
Both great and small.
And as the fish are hidden in the water,
There is hidden in God height and depth, far and near,
And the inhabitants thereof.
And as the water meets the fishes everywhere it goes,
So God meets everyone who walks.
And as the water touches the fish at every turn it makes,
God accompanies and sees every man in all his deeds.

He is diffused through the air,
And with thy breath enters into thy midst.
He is mingled with the light,
And enters, when thou seest, into thy eyes.
He is mingled with thy spirit,
And examines thee from within, as to what thou art.
In thy soul He dwells,
And nothing which is in thy heart is hid from Him.
As the mind precedes the body in every place,
So He examines thy soul before thou dost examine it.
And as the thought greatly precedes the deed,
So His thought knows beforehand what thou wilt plan.

Compared with His impalpability,
Thy soul is body and thy spirit flesh.
Soul of thy soul,
Spirit of thy spirit,
Is He who created thee,
Far from all,
And mingled with all,
And manifest above all,
A great wonder and a hidden marvel unfathomable.

From Hymn against Bar-Daisan by Ephrem the Syrian, translated by A. S. Duncan Jones, 1904; from India Office Ethiopian and Syrian Library No. 9. Found at http://www.monachos.net/content/patristics/patristictexts/156-ephrem-daisan

Daily Reading for June 11 • St. Barnabas the Apostle

“When therefore Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and disputation with them, they determined that Paul and Barnabas, and certain other of them, should go up to Jerusalem unto the apostles and elders about this question.” And Paul does not say, What? Have I not a right to be believed after so many signs? but he complied for their sakes. . . .

“But there rose up certain of the sect of the Pharisees which believed, saying, That it was needful to circumcise them, and to command them to keep the law of Moses. And the apostles and elders came together to consider of this matter.” . . . In Jerusalem there were not any believers from among the Gentiles: but in Antioch of course there were. Therefore there came down certain yet laboring under this disease of the love of rule, and wishing to have those of the Gentiles attached to them. And yet Paul, though he too was learned in the Law, was not thus affected. . . . “And being brought on their way,” etc, “they caused no small joy to the brethren.” Do you mark, as many as are not enamoured of rule, rejoiced in their believing? It was no ambitious feeling that prompted their recitals, neither was it for display, but in justification of the preaching to the Gentiles. . . .

Great effrontery this, of the Pharisees, that even after faith they set up the Law, and will not obey the Apostles. But see these, how mildly they speak, and not in the tone of authority: such words are amiable, and more apt to fix themselves in the mind. Observe, it is nowhere a display of words, but demonstration by facts, by the Spirit. And yet, though they have such proofs, they still speak gently. . . . For gentleness is everywhere a great good: gentleness, I say, not stupid indifference; gentleness, not adulation: for between these there is a vast difference. Nothing ruffled Paul, nothing discomposed Peter. When thou hast convincing proofs, why lose thy temper, to render these of none effect? It is impossible for one who is out of temper ever to persuade.

From Homily XXXII of John Chrysostom on Acts 15, in The Homilies of St. John Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople, on the Acts of the Apostles; http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf111.iii.html

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

The consecration of [St. Columba’s] church [on the White Earth reservation] by Bishop Whipple in August of 1872 was a gala occasion, with a huge crowd of both church and Indian dignitaries present. On that occasion, one of the chiefs spoke to Bishop Whipple: “I heard the new message which you had brought into the country. I went to your spirit man, Enmegahbowh. I sat at his feet, and I have all that story in my heart.”

The following year, Enmegahbowh was instrumental in inspiring the chiefs of the various Ojibwe bands to offer their lives, if necessary, to make peace with the Sioux. This historic, dramatic, and successful Peace Mission ended the 133 years of Sioux-Ojibwe warfare and can be credited primarily to our Ojibwe missionary.

It is claimed by his critics that Enmegabowh was too tolerant when he turned a blind eye to what his detractors called the “foolish war dances” of the Ojibwe—a “sinful pagan ritual” from the traditional Christian perspective of the time—but “John Johnson,” Ojibwe Medicine Man, knew from his own experience the relative innocence of the tribal practices. His Ojibwe name meant “The One Who Stands Before His People,” and that he did.

He had been a “traitor” to his own bloodthirsty Ojibwe band by warning the white settlers of their murderous intentions in 1862; and he had been a “traitor” to his intolerant Christian associates by not condemning wholesale the ancient rituals of his native people. But he was no traitor to his Lord. . . . When his twelve-year-old son Alfred lay dying, the boy accepted that he would die. He took his father’s hand and with his last breath said, “Father, pray much and do good”—a simple and deep byword which characterized Enmegahbowh’s life and death. . . .

In recent history, the Rev. Howard Anderson tells of asking an Ojibwe man with whom he worked why he belonged to the Episcopal Church. The man’s answer: “While others will killing us, you were ordaining us.”

From “(John) Enmegahbowh (Johnson)” in Stars in a Dark World: Stories of the Saints and Holy Days of the Liturgy by Fr. John-Julian, OJN (Denver: Outskirts Press, 2009).

Daily Reading for June 13 • The Third Sunday after Pentecost

Then turning toward the woman, Jesus said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” (Luke 7:44-47)

Lord, remind me who I am.
When others tell me I am nothing,
Remind me that I have been made in God’s image.
When my body has been used and abused,
Remind me that I am the temple of your Holy Spirit. . . .
When people tell me that I will never amount to anything,
Remind me that I am crowned with your glory and honor. . . .

When I cannot see any way ahead,
Remind me that I carry your light within me.
When I am afraid or confused,
Remind me that I have your power, your love and your sanity.
When I feel of no use and no worth,
Remind me that I am precious to you, that you call me your beloved. . . .

When I forget who I am,
Call me by my name.

From “When I Need Reminding” by Christina Rees, quoted in Lifting Women’s Voices: Prayers to Change the World edited by Margaret Rose, Jenny Te Paa, Jeanne Person, and Abagail Nelson. Copyright © 2009. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

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

Community life offers more blessings than can be fully and easily enumerated. It is more advantageous than the solitary life both for preserving the goods bestowed on us by God and for warding off the external attacks of the Enemy. . . . Wherein will [the solitary] show his humility, if there is no one with whom he may compare and so confirm his own greater humility? Wherein will he give evidence of his compassion, if he has cut himself off from association with other persons? And how will he exercise himself in long-suffering, if no one contradicts his wishes? If anyone says that the teaching of the Holy Scripture is sufficient for the amendment of his or [her] ways, they resemble a person who learns carpentry without ever actually doing a carpenter’s work or a person who is instructed in metal-working but will not reduce theory to practice. . . .Consider, further, that the Lord by reason of His excessive love for humanity was not content with merely teaching the word, but, so as to transmit to us clearly and exactly the example of humility in the perfection of love, girded Himself and washed the feet of the disciples. Whom, therefore will you wash? To whom will you minister? . . . So it is an area for combat, a good path of progress, continual discipline, and a practicing of the Lord’s commandment, when Christians dwell together in community.

From “The Long Rules” by Basil the Great, translated by Sister M. Monica Wagner. Quoted in Invitation to Christian Spirituality: An Ecumenical Anthology, edited by John R. Tyson (Oxford University Press, 1999).

Daily Reading for June 15 • Evelyn Underhill, 1941

You must settle down and quiet yourself. Your present state if encouraged will be in the end as bad for you spiritually as physically. I know it is not easy to do. Nevertheless it will in the nature of things come about gradually and I want you to help it all you know. If you allow rapture or vehemence to have its way too much, you risk a violent reaction to dryness, whereas if you act prudently you will keep the deep steady permanent peace, in the long run more precious and more fruitful than the dazzling light. But you won’t do it by direct struggle—did you ever quiet a baby, or your dog, or any other excited bit of life, by direct struggle? You will do it, please, by steadily, gradually and quietly turning your thoughts and prayers not so much to the overwhelming joy and wonder, as to the deep steadfastness of God, get gently accustomed to it, at home with it, rest in it. Let your night prayers be rather short, very quiet, more or less on a set form, not too “mental” and in the line of feeling of Psalm xxiii. Let yourself sink down into God’s Love in complete dependence, and even though the light does seem to rush in on you, keep as it were the eyes of your soul shut, intent on falling asleep in Him. . . . During the day, doing your work, etc., it is I know very hard not to be distracted and absorbed. But remember you have no more right to be extravagant over this than over any other pleasure or craving. It is true you can and probably will find a balance in which you will live in a quiet spirit of prayer, able at all leisure moments—and in the middle of your work—to turn simply and gently to God. But this will come only when all vehemence is eliminated.

Consider the sequence of daily acts, and your external interests as part of your service, part of God’s order for you, and as having a proper claim on your undivided attention. Take special pains now to keep up fully or develop some definite non-religious interest, e.g., your music. Work at it, consider it an obligation to do so. It is most necessary to your spiritual health; and you will very soon find that it has a steadying effect. “Good works” won’t do—it must be something you really like for its own sake. . . . .

Otherwise, just for the present, do go as quietly as you can, about your work, etc., I mean. Avoid strain. If you could take a few days off and keep quite quiet it would be good, but if this is impossible at any rate go along gently, look after your body, don’t saturate yourself the whole time with mystical books. I know you do feel tremendously stimulated all round; but remember the “young presumptuous disciple” in the Cloud! Hot milk and a thoroughly foolish novel are better things for you to go to bed on just now than St. Teresa.

From a letter to a friend dated February 7, 1923, in The Letters of Evelyn Underhill, edited with an introduction by Charles Williams (Westminster, Md.: Christian Classics, 1943).

Daily Reading for June 16 • George Berkeley, 1753, and Joseph Butler, 1752, Bishops and Theologians

Philosophy being nothing else but the study of wisdom and truth, it may with reason be expected that those who have spent most time and pains in it should enjoy a greater calm and serenity of mind, a greater clearness and evidence of knowledge, and be less disturbed with doubts and difficulties than other men. Yet so it is, we see the illiterate bulk of mankind that walk the high-road of plain common sense, and are governed by the dictates of nature, for the most part easy and undisturbed. . . . But no sooner do we depart from sense and instinct to follow the light of a superior principle, to reason, meditate, and reflect on the nature of things, but a thousand scruples spring up in our minds concerning those things which before we seemed fully to comprehend. Prejudices and errors of sense do from all parts discover themselves to our view; and, endeavouring to correct these by reason, we are insensibly drawn into uncouth paradoxes, difficulties, and inconsistencies, which multiply and grow upon us as we advance in speculation, till at length, having wandered through many intricate mazes, we find ourselves just where we were, or, which is worse, sit down in a forlorn Scepticism.

The cause of this is thought to be the obscurity of things, or the natural weakness and imperfection of our understandings. It is said, the faculties we have are few, and those designed by nature for the support and comfort of life, and not to penetrate into the inward essence and constitution of things. . . .

We may be too partial to ourselves in placing the fault originally in our faculties, and not rather in the wrong use we make of them. It is a hard thing to suppose that right deductions from true principles should ever end in consequences which cannot be maintained made consistent. We should believe that God has dealt more bountifully with the sons of men than to give them a strong desire for that knowledge which he had placed quite out of their reach. This were not agreeable to the wonted indulgent methods of Providence, which, whatever appetites it may have implanted in the creatures, doth usually furnish them with such means as, if rightly made use of, will not fail to satisfy them. Upon the whole, I am inclined to think that the far greater part, if not all, of those difficulties which have hitherto amused philosophers, and blocked up the way to knowledge, are entirely owing to ourselves—that we have first raised a dust and then complain we cannot see.

My purpose therefore is, to try if I can discover what those Principles are which have introduced all that doubtfulness and uncertainty, those absurdities and contradictions, into the several sects of philosophy; insomuch that the wisest men have thought our ignorance incurable, conceiving it to arise from the natural dullness and limitation of our faculties. And surely it is a work well deserving our pains to make a strict inquiry concerning the First Principles of Human Knowledge, to sift and examine them on all sides, especially since there may be some grounds to suspect that those lets and difficulties, which stay and embarrass the mind in its search after truth, do not spring from any darkness and intricacy in the objects, or natural defect in the understanding, so much as from false Principles which have been insisted on, and might have been avoided.

From A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge by George Berkeley. A Project Gutenberg EBook, found at http://www.gutenberg.org/files/4723/4723.txt

Daily Reading for June 17

Spiritual practices could be called life practices or humane practices, because they help us practice being alive, and humanely so. They develop not just character but also aliveness, alertness, wakefulness, and humanity. . . . Spiritual practices are about life, about training ourselves to become the kinds of people who have eyes and actually see, who have ears and actually hear, and so experience—with increasing consistency and resiliency—not just survival but Life, capitalized and modified by insufficient adjectives such as real, abundant, examined, conscious, worth living, and good.. . .

I haven’t told the whole story though. Yes, spiritual practices are ways of exercising intention regarding the kinds of people we are becoming at every turn. Yes, they are ways of habitually waking up and discovering Life. But the capitalization of Life points beyond life itself: spiritual practices are also and truly about the Spirit. They are about somehow driving with our windows wide open to God, keeping elbows in the wind and our hands surfing beside the side mirror. They’re about tuning our radios to the frequency of the Holy, turning up the volume, and then daring to sing along. They’re about staying alert so our eyes see the glory of the coming of the Lord, and our ears hear the Word, and our skin feels the warm touch and the gentle pressure of the Presence. . . . Spiritual practices are ways of becoming awake and staying awake to God.

From Finding Our Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices by Brian D. McLaren (Nashville, Tenn.: Thomas Nelson, 2008).

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

Despite disincentives and persecution, people [in the early church] were drawn to churches in which there was spiritual power, question-posing behavior and a combination of catholicity with community. But what was it that formed Christians and Christian communities so that they would embody these qualities that attracted outsiders? Two community-forming realities stand out: catechesis and worship. . . .

At least from the second century believers were not baptized until they had gone through a lengthy process of catechesis. . . . Teachers and sponsors taught the candidates a new way of living and of viewing the world. The teachers imparted new narratives—the stories of the Bible, which replaced the traditional narratives of the culture, and gave the candidates biblical texts to memorize—key passages that expressed Christianity’s beliefs and that reinforced its values of economic sharing and nonviolence. . . . The teachers taught the candidates how Christians live. They taught by their own example; their catechumens were their apprentices in the faith. But they taught also by overseeing the candidates’ progress in forms of behavior that were characteristic of the Christian community—care of the poor, works of mercy, nonviolence. . . .

Why, we may wonder, all this emphasis upon catechesis? . . . The reason goes to the heart of the early Christian approach to mission. The Christians did not offer the world intellectual formulas; they offered a way of life rooted in Christ. The Christians were not mute—they were “talkative in corners,” workplaces and face-to-face relationships. But in general their verbal witness grew out of the attractive, distinctive qualities of their lifestyle. The Christians commented on this. “Beauty of life,” Minucius Felix wrote around 200, “causes strangers to join the ranks. . . . We do not preach great things; we live them.”

From “ ‘They Alone Know the Right Way to Live’: The Early Church and Evangelism” by Alan Kreider, in Ancient Faith for the Church’s Future, edited by Mark Husbands and Jeffrey P. Greenman (Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP Academic, 2008).

Daily Reading for June 19

We fear physical pain, aging, dying. We fear the force of our own distress or depression. We fear being so easily bogged down, bringing no identifiable goodness into the world. Praying takes us right into the middle of these fears and opens their constant little trickle into a swift running stream, for in prayer every early effort to still our fears only intensifies them. We try all the familiar tricks—reciting familiar set phrases, psalms, hymns. We count numbers, we do breathing exercises. But fear persists and will not be removed by any of the consecrated relaxation procedures, by tranquilizers, by liquor, or drugs. Like the collective effort of a congress of mice in our walls, fear gnaws at us, weakening and threatening to bring down our house. . . .

God does not ever altogether remove our fear. What he does is to join us in it. He is there where we are afraid. That is the way of the cross, of the tree of life. That is the way of the God who enters our life even in the face of death. That is the way of the vow of obedience in religion. It strikes to the heart of our fear. It tells us to be obedient to our love even unto death. It instructs us not to run or attempt to run from the inescapable fact of the contingency of our being. We cannot protect those we love from suffering. We cannot be sure that we will hold onto our own sanity. We cannot guarantee peace or good will on earth. There is no sure answer to these great fears. There is only one help for them—to surrender them into God’s hands. We must do all we can and still give them over into God’s care. Our fear brings us right to the point where we can accept the fact that we are subject to God’s will and not simply to our own.

From Primary Speech: A Psychology of Prayer by Ann Belford Ulanov and Barry Ulanov (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982).

Daily Reading for June 20 • The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

God is always infinitely near and infinitely far. We are fully aware of Him only if we experience both of these aspects. But sometimes, when our awareness of Him has become shallow, habitual—not warm and not cold—when He has become too familiar to be exciting, too near to be felt in his infinite distance, then He becomes the absent God. The Spirit has not ceased to be present. The Spiritual Presence can never end. But the Spirit of God hides God from our sight. . . .

The Spirit has shown to our time and to innumerable people in our time the absent God and the empty space that cries in us to be filled by Him. And then the absent one may return and take the space that belongs to Him, and the Spiritual Presence may break again into our consciousness, awakening us to recognize what we are, shaking and transforming us. This may happen like the coming of a storm, the storm of the Spirit, stirring up the stagnant air of our spiritual life. The storm will then recede; a new stagnancy may take place; and the awareness of the present God may be replaced by the awareness of the empty space within us. Life in the Spirit is ebb and flow—and this means, whether we experience the present or the absent God, it is the work of the Spirit.

From The Eternal Now by Paul Tillich (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1963).

Daily Reading for June 21

In brief, do everything as though in the presence of God and so, in whatever you do, you need never allow your conscience to wound and denounce you, for not having done your work well.

Proceeding in this way you will smooth for yourself a true and straight path to the third method of attention and prayer which is the following: the mind should be in the heart—a distinctive feature of this third method of prayer. It should guard the heart while it prays, revolve, remaining always within, and thence, from the depths of the heart, offer up prayers to God. (Everything is in this: work in this way until you are given to taste the Lord.) When the mind, there, within the heart, at last tastes and sees that the Lord is good, and delights therein (the labor is ours, but this tasting is the action of grace in a humble heart), then it will no longer wish to leave this place in the heart. . . and will always look inwardly into the depths of the heart and will remain revolving there, repulsing all thoughts sown by the devil. . . .

Therefore our holy fathers, harkening to the Lord, . . . have renounced all other spiritual work and concentrated wholly on this one doing, that is on guarding the heart, convinced that, through this practice, they would easily attain every other virtue, whereas without it not a single virtue can be firmly established. Some of the fathers called this doing, silence of the heart; others called it attention; yet others—sobriety and opposition (to thoughts), while others called it examining thoughts and guarding the mind.

Keep your mind there (in the heart), trying by every possible means to find the place where the heart is, in order that, having found it, your mind should constantly abide there. Wrestling thus, the mind will find the place of the heart.

From Simeon the New Theologian (949-1022), in Writings from the Philokalia on Prayer of the Heart, translated by E. Kadloubovsky and G.E. H. Palmer (London: Faber and Faber, 1951).

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

The word “martyr” derives from the Greek for a first-hand witness: one whose knowledge derives from personal observation. Its first appearances in Christian literature—Matthew 18:16 and Mark 14:63—carry this original meaning: that the Apostles were “witnesses” of Christ’s activities and sayings. However, since this witness got them into trouble with the law, where they were regarded as unreliable citizens in refusing to pay respects to the state deities, the word began to carry the added significance of conveying the risk of physical punishment, or even death, for their persistence. . . . Thus tradition has it that beginning with St. Stephen and all of the original Apostles, martyrdom was the price that the early witnesses to the Christian faith were likely to pay. Within the lifetime of the first generation of the Christian era, therefore, the term took on the meaning that it has retained to the present day: one who out of devotion to any aspect of Christian faith or practice, suffers torture and death at the hands of a hostile regime or populace. . . .

The title of martyr so grew in prestige that new questions needed answering: could one consciously seek out death for Christ’s sake—by vandalizing the shrines of the Roman gods, or insulting the magistrates, as some fanatics were moved to do, for example—and thus assure both historical fame and eternal salvation in one stroke? Could one become a martyr by accident? Would martyrdom alone atone for one’s sins? Was a life of heroic Christian witness—in prison or exile, for example—that did not actually end in violent death, that of a martyr? The orthodox positions on these questions gradually emerged: that it was rash to seek out death, but reprehensible to avoid it; that one was obligated to proclaim one’s faith only if challenged, and then one was not permitted to deny it; and that the title of martyr was denied to those who deliberately vandalized official shrines and suffered the consequences. . . .

As Christian belief—despite its contrary principles—became identified with imperialism and colonial exploitation, its adherents who suffered death at the hands of anti-colonial activists might lay claim to the title of martyr. Similarly, the religious wars that followed the Reformation produced victims of conscience on several sides. These developments introduced new complications bearing upon the circumstances and motivations of the executioners and executed alike. Whatever the problems surrounding any historical circumstance, local martyrologies have developed in almost every region of the globe where Christianity has flourished. And these martyrologies continue to grow. Thus there are marytrologies in countries as dispersed as Uganda, Japan, Egypt, El Salvador, and Canada, and with dates ranging from the first to the twentieth centuries in the Christian era.

From Martyrdom: The Psychology, Theology, and Politics of Self-Sacrifice by Rona M. Fields et al. (Westport, Conn.: Praeger Publishers, 2004).

Daily Reading for June 23

We are always in need of repentance, of the willingness to acknowledge our state of forgiveness; we are always being forgiven, transfigured and forgiving, and thus being part of God’s transfiguration of creation.

Sin both matters terribly and matters not at all: matters terribly as a vehicle for evil, and matters not at all because it can be transformed in the love of God. Sin, which we cannot avoid, and the acknowledgment of sin, can be a balancing factor, not a morbid preoccupation. It is rather a knowledge that adds reality to the assessment of decisions we are about to make, and brings us to a kind of self-knowledge that surpasses gladness because of the fire in the dark, and the fire in our tears.

And because we are one organism our tears cannot stop with ourselves; our responsibility cannot stop with a narcissistic perception of where our sin leaves off and another’s begins. The more we participate in transfiguration, the less we fear, the less we feel we have to control. Thus the boundaries between ourselves and others become less defined and finally disappear altogether, not because we are finding ourselves by testing ourselves against the actions and reactions of others, but precisely because we are being found in God and thus need less self-reflection.

From The Fountain and the Furnace: The Way of Tears and Fire by Maggie Ross (Mahwah, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1987).

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

Dearest God in Heaven,
with awe and wonder, I look down upon this tiny face tonight. . . .

Pure magic, pure joy, pure love,
A living testament of your divine existence.

In my heart, in the deepest part of my soul,
I give thanks to you, now and always, for this most sacred gift.
My child.

Let me lovingly nurture my child,
whom you have graciously lent to me,
as you lovingly nurture me.

Grant me wisdom, especially when I am tired.
And grant me laughter, especially when I am tested.

Thank you, O Lord, for entrusting me
with your Creation and for making me
a mother.
Amen.

From “A Prayer in Celebration of Childbirth” by Cynthia Horvath Garbutt, quoted in Women’s Uncommon Prayers: Our Lives Revealed, Nurtured, Celebrated edited by Elizabeth Rankin Geitz, Marjorie A. Burke, and Ann Smith. Copyright © 2000. Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. www.morehousepublishing.com

Daily Reading for June 25 • James Weldon Johnson, Poet, 1938

O Lord, we come this morning
Knee-bowed and body-bent
Before Thy throne of grace.
O Lord—this morning—
Bow our hearts beneath our knees,
And our knees in some lonesome valley.
We come this morning—
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord—open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. . . .

And now, O Lord—
When I’ve done drunk my last cup of sorrow—
When I’ve been called everything but a child of God—
When I’m done traveling up the rough side of the mountain—
O—Mary’s Baby—
When I start down the steep and slippery steps of death—
When this old world begins to rock beneath my feet—
Lower me to my dusty grave in peace
To wait for that great gittin’-up morning—Amen.

From “Listen Lord: A Prayer” by James Weldon Johnson.

Daily Reading for June 26 • Isabel Florence Hapgood, Ecumenist and Journalist, 1929

Most Eastern Orthodox Christians in America know Isabel Hapgood by name, but possibly not much about her life and activities. And yet, she merits to be remembered with respect and gratitude, as she was a champion in the awesome task of translating Orthodox liturgical texts from Church Slavonic into English. . . . She was a formidable lady of many talents and vocations: a polyglot-translator of works by great literary masters, a prolific journalist and writer, a successful lecturer and administrator, a moral crusader, an organizer of charitable work, a liturgical scholar and a prospective musicologist as she harbored a project of a History of Russian Orthodox Church Music. Her love of Russia and particularly of the Orthodox Church with its beautiful choral singing prompted her to make available the glory and wealth of its tradition to the English-speaking world.

By the turn of the century the quest by Anglicans and Episcopalians for unity with the Russian Orthodox Church was on the mind of most earnest theologians, prelates and ordinary faithful on both sides. This cultural-historical phenomenon had a long history and, in a very real sense, culminated in Isabel Hapgood’s Service Book, first published in Boston, in 1906, under the spiritual guidance and with the moral support of Archbishop Tikhon of North America and the Aleutian Islands. . . .

It should be remembered that early attempts by Anglicans to reunite with the Orthodox Church began three hundred years ago with the English and Scottish Nonjurors, who refused to pledge allegiance to William of Orange, King of England after the Revolution of 1688-1689. The excommunicated Anglican bishops turned to the Orthodox East for reunion. Those first attempts failed due to fundamental theological and dogmatic differences. The dialogue between Anglicans and Russian Orthodox resumed in the beginning of the 1840s, when the Reverend William Palmer, an eminent Anglican churchman, Fellow of Magdalen College at Oxford University and member of the Oxford Movement, made an earnest effort to prove that there were no differences between Anglican and Orthodox dogmas. . . .Palmer’s efforts in seeking unity with the Eastern Church were continued by Anglican-Episcopalian prelates well into the twentieth century. An intense reciprocal research arose among theologians and high clergy in England, Russia, Greece, and America. Their contacts brought about sincere feelings of mutual respect and brotherly love on both sides. They were manifested in a remarkable symbolic gesture by St. John of Kronstadt at a meeting with visiting Anglican clergy. Saint John kissed the pectoral cross of an Anglican bishop exclaiming, “This is what unites us!”

As a result of this dialogue, the availability of good translations of the Eastern Orthodox liturgy became a first priority. Simultaneously there arose an urgent need for liturgical texts in English in the United States—for obvious practical reasons: the descendents of early immigrants from various countries of Eastern and Central Europe and the Near East began to lose the language of Divine Services in their respective traditions. Isabel Hapgood was the ideal person to undertake that important mission. She set to work with enthusiasm and devotion and justified her mission by confirming “the policy of the Holy Orthodox-Catholic Apostolic Church of the East to have her services celebrated in the language of the countries inhabited by her members.”

From “A Linguistic Bridge to Orthodoxy: In Memoriam Isabel Florence Hapgood” by Marina Ledkovsky, a lecture delivered at the Twelfth Annual Russian Orthodox Musicians Conference, 7-11 October 1998, Washington, D.C.; http://anglicanhistory.org/women/hapgood/ledkovsky.pdf

Daily Reading for June 27 • The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:57-62)

The man said, “Allow me first to go and bury my father.” The Lord replied, “Let the dead bury their dead; but go and preach the kingdom of God.” Another man said, “Let me first arrange my affairs at home.” He rebuked him with a stern threat, saying, “No man, putting his hand to the plow and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.”

A person who wishes to become the Lord’s disciple must repudiate a human obligation, however honorable it may appear, if it slows us ever so slightly in giving the wholehearted obedience we owe to God.

From Concerning Baptism by Basil the Great, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament III, Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just, Jr. (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003).

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

God the Father, uncreated,
beyond grasp, invisible,
one God the maker of all;
this is the first and foremost article of our faith.

But the second article is the Word of God,
the Son of God, Christ Jesus our Lord,
who was shown forth by the prophets
according to the design of their prophecy
and according to the manner in which the Father disposed;
and through Him were made all things whatsoever.
He also, in the end of times . . . became a man among men,
visible and tangible,
in order to abolish death and bring to light life,
and bring about the communion of God and man.

And the third article is the Holy Spirit,
through whom the prophets prophesied
and the patriarchs were taught about God. . .
and who in the end of times has been poured forth in a new manner
upon humanity over all the earth, renewing man to God.

From a creed of Irenaeus of Lyons, in Proof of the Apostolic Preaching; quoted in Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years by Diarmaid MacCulloch (New York: Viking, 2009).

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

A certain man came near to Christ the Savior of us all, saying, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” Christ rejected the man, saying that the foxes have holes, and the birds of heaven a place to lodge in; but he had no place to lay his head. . . . It is easy for anyone that will examine such matters accurately to perceive that in the first place there was great ignorance in his manner of coming near. Second, it was full of excessive presumptuousness. His wish was not simply to follow Christ, but rather to thrust himself into apostolic honors. This was the following that he was seeking, being self-called. The blessed Paul writes that no one takes the honor to himself unless he is called of God, as Aaron also was. Aaron did not enter the priesthood through himself, but on the contrary, God called him. We find none of the holy apostles promoted himself to the office of apostle but rather received the honor from Christ. He said, “Come after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.” This man, as I said, boldly took upon himself honorable gifts, and, although no one called him, thrust himself into what was above his rank.

From Commentary on Luke 57 by Cyril of Alexandria, quoted in Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: New Testament III, Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just, Jr. (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003).

Daily Reading for June 30

The most powerful prayer, and almost the strongest of all to obtain everything, and the most honorable of all works, is that which proceeds from an empty spirit. The emptier the spirit, the more is the prayer and the work mighty, worthy, profitable, praiseworthy and perfect. The empty spirit can do everything.

What is an empty spirit? An empty spirit is one that is confused by nothing, attached to nothing, has not attached its best to any fixed way of acting, and has no concern whatever in anything for its own gain, for it is all sunk deep down into God’s dearest will and has forsaken its own. A man can never perform any work, however humble, without it gaining strength and power from this.

We ought to pray so powerfully that we should like to put our every member and strength, our two eyes and ears, mouth, heart and all our senses to work; and we should not give up until we find that we wish to be one with him who is present to us and whom we entreat, namely God.

From Meister Eckhart: Teacher and Preacher, edited by Bernard McGinn (New York: Paulist Press, 1986).