Hieropraxis

Lessons from Fasting Failure

2010-03-08T01:54:44Z

This year for Lent, I took on the discipline of fasting before the Eucharist. It doesn’t quite rank up there with St Antony of the Desert’s heroic efforts of asceticism, but my spiritual director felt that they would be a good discipline for me. My tendency is to want to take on more, do more, accomplish more, and so any discipline of letting go, of self-denial, is going against the grain for me – and is therefore all the more necessary.

I can tell that it’s a necessary discipline, because it’s going quite badly.

To begin with, the idea of fasting before morning mass filled me with trepidation. I like breakfast. I feel that breakfast is necessary. What’s more, my schedule means that if I don’t have breakfast on the days I go to church, I won’t eat until lunchtime. I go to the 9 AM mass on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then have just enough time to have coffee or run an errand or two before I go to work, and on Sundays I go to the 10:45 AM mass, which means that I’m not home from church till probably 1 PM. I explained all this to my spiritual director. “My blood sugar might get low, and I’ll get a headache,” I said.

“Well, then, bring a granola bar and eat it on the way to work,” Fr Doran replied.

He wouldn’t let me off the hook.

That first Tuesday I anxiously contemplated the lengthy stretch of time before I would be able to eat, but lo and behold! I survived. Even Sunday was not a problem. In fact, when I got home from church I even just had a light meal, a bowl of soup, and felt completely satisfied.

First lesson learned: as a well-fed American in good health, I am not going to starve to death, or have any ill consequences whatsoever, if I skip a meal a couple times a week. (I found myself reflecting on the difference between my own self-chosen circumstances and those of people who have no choice but to go hungry.)

Second lesson learned: my anxiety was about control, not hunger. I was afraid of being hungry; I was afraid of not feeling well. My fears dictated my actions, so that I didn’t just prefer to eat breakfast, I felt that I had to eat breakfast, whether or not I felt hungry at that moment. I began to see that fasting was a way of recognizing the ways in which our bodies control us, rather than the other way around.

The next week, I thought: “I can do this!” My confidence was raised higher by the fact that one day, I ended up not having a chance to eat lunch either, and yet I managed to get through the day just fine. “Now that’s discipline!” I told myself. Rising above the physical, subjugating the desires of the flesh to the control of a well-ordered mind, and all that.

As you might guess, I was headed for a fall.

I remembered the desert fathers and thought, “If they could live a prayerful and productive life with just one simple meal a day, I can too!” (O Lord, have mercy on me.) I skipped breakfast, didn’t worry about having a snack, didn’t worry about fitting in time for lunch into a busy day…

… and by the end of the day, found myself exhausted. True, I didn’t feel hungry. I also didn’t feel like praying. I didn’t feel like reading. I didn’t feel like writing or working, either. In fact, I didn’t feel like doing anything but sitting apathetically in my armchair. Finally I roused myself sufficiently to reheat some leftovers in the microwave.

An hour later, I felt enormously better. All of a sudden I had energy! I felt able to do some work – to think clearly!

And I realized the obvious: I need to eat. I am not some sort of spiritual superwoman; if I don’t eat, I don’t have energy to do the work that I need to do – certainly not to do it well. I felt like a failure. “I can’t do this. I need to quit this discipline. I can’t handle fasting! I’ll tell Fr. Doran that I’m giving up.”

To put the final icing on the cake, as it were, this past Sunday at church a few of my fellow parishioners were talking about fasting before the Eucharist, which it turns out they all do as a matter of course. Here I was, thinking I was actually doing something worthwhile by taking this on as a Lenten discipline, and it’s something most people take for granted. I felt like an idiot.

I think I’m starting to see the point of fasting.

I’ve managed to hit the extremes: obsessive attention to making sure I eat regularly, and careless inattention to whether I eat at all; cowardice about suffering any bodily discomfort whatsoever, and spiritual pride over being able to ignore my bodily needs; a sense of personal merit for taking on this discipline, and a feeling of personal embarrassment at being behind when I thought I was ahead.

To discipline something is to train it in the way that it should go. If there is one thing that I have seen so far in this experiment of fasting, it is my own need for discipline.

My nature is to go to extremes – and most of all, to go to the extreme of trying to do more, be better, work harder. My natural response to failure is to castigate myself. What an idiot I was, to be proud of myself, to think I was doing so well, to consider even for a moment that there was special merit in taking on this discipline. What was I thinking?

Since I recognize (rather belatedly) that I am not going to climb the summits of asceticism, at least not during this particular Lenten season, it is tempting to give up on the project altogether. It’s easier to turn aside from the path than to recognize that I am only one tiny, tiny step forward on it, and that the path leads up, up, up ahead of me, with many people farther along than I am (not just older and wiser, but younger people too).

Fasting is not really about managing my desire for food, but about managing my desire for success, and the control (or sense of control) that comes with success. It’s one more facet of the same challenge that I recognized, and feared, before I became a Christian: “Your will be done, not mine.”

That’s never easy, is it?

I suppose that’s why Our Lord says “When you fast…”

Not if, but when. He knows we need practice letting go.

Developing a Taste for Good Books

2010-03-01T05:13:46Z

Here’s a question: why do people read the classics? It’s not because they’re “important” in some abstract way; it’s not that they’re “good for you,” like literary vegetables. In truth the real classics, the works that truly have earned a place in the canon, are read because they’re the most satisfying and enjoyable books to read. They are, in the most concise way of putting it, good books.

Yet for many readers, the classics are books that seem dull and difficult, only to be read under duress, for a class or a particularly unfortunate book group. Why is this? There are a lot of reasons (some of which stem from cultural and educational problems that run deeper than anything I can address here), but one reason is a simple one: if you haven’t developed a taste for good books, you won’t enjoy them. Conversely, once you do develop that taste, you’ll find the best books, the classics, to be the very best of literary friends.

How does one acquire such a taste, and why don’t more of us have it?

Let me take a roundabout approach to the answer.

To begin with, there are some books that are not great, but still very good. These are books that are good in moral content, well written enough to be good for the mind, and fun as well – Harry Potter springs to mind. I like Harry Potter and I think they’re good books to read – but it would be a rather bland mental and emotional diet to read nothing but Harry Potter.

Further down in the middle range are books that are well written but void of significant content (entertaining and harmless fluff); books that are morally sound and/or intellectually nourishing, but badly written (many non-fiction books fall into this category); books that are morally sound, intellectually vapid, and badly written (alas, most of what appears in the Christian Fiction section at B&N); and books that are both badly written and void of significant content (the majority of what you find in airport newsstands).

Inoffensive fluff has the problem that it can deaden one’s capacity for appreciating truly great literature. It’s not the content that’s the problem. The problem is that fluff is sticky. You get used to it. Bad writing is easy to read; you don’t have to wrestle with it, because whatever’s there, is right there on the surface. Bad writing doesn’t make you think; it numbs the mind rather than develops it, even when the way that it numbs is through over-stimulation of the senses. (Incidentally, I recommend C.S. Lewis’ book An Experiment in Criticism for those who are interested in exploring the idea of good, and bad, ways of reading. Absolutely worthwhile.)

The deadening effect is real. When I was in junior high and high school, I read volume after volume of science fiction and fantasy novels. I approve of science fiction and fantasy, done right, and I would say that it helped develop certain aspects of my imagination in ways that would be important to me later on… especially since I eventually found myself reading the very best fantasy, such as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. The problem was (as with any genre) there is a lot of trash alongside the good stuff, and I got in the habit of reading vast quantities of insipid writing, at a very rapid pace. I had no one with whom to discuss what I read, so there was no check on my reading speed, and no way to find out, in dialogue, that some of the books I was reading were richer and deeper than others.

Then, when I first encountered Jane Austen, in college, I found her books incomprehensible. Nothing really happened, or when it did, I didn’t see the connections between what had gone before and what was happening now. I was so used to the action and drama of science fiction and fantasy, the epic sweep of sagas that involved mythic heroes and titanic struggles for ultimate power, that I failed to notice the nuances of conversation, the shades of characterization expressed in fine detail.

Fortunately, I was always a venturesome reader, and a stubborn one, so I kept venturing out into the literary world beyond my fluffy ghetto, and I started finding books and poems that resonated more deeply with me. I recognized that some books gave me something more, something deeper than my usual reading fare, and over time I gained a taste for these books. This was a good thing, in fact a life-changing thing, for it opened up to me a world of ideas that challenged me and nourished me at the same time. I discovered that the best authors spoke to me about what was real, what was true – and even when I found the path to be difficult, I knew this was the territory I wanted to explore.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, John Donne, C.S. Lewis had things to say to me that I needed to hear, but it took time and the development of a more sensitive readerly response to be able to hear them.

Recently I realized that as my literary sense has matured, my preferences have grown narrower, and deeper.

I no longer enjoy reading fluff. Having developed a taste for the really good stuff, I no longer find less well-crafted books to be engaging. In a sense, I have lost something – I cannot return to that readerly state in which I could pick up any science fiction tale and find in it something to entertain me. That is gone.

Yet I have gained infinitely more. While I had the immature palate, or the deadened one, many of the best authors were closed to me, or I could only get a bare hint of their power. Now, the entire canon of great literature is open to me in a way that it never was before. Even my light reading has become richer. When I want to relax, I still enjoy reading fantasy or a mystery novel… but instead of reading just any old thing, I read Dorothy Sayers or P.D. James.

I re-discovered Austen this year, at age 35. She’s an amazing writer! How could I have thought her books were dull? The books were the same… but the reader was very, very different.

So I would say that there is a reason to avoid reading fluff. Read good books, instead. The more you read good books, the more you will develop a taste for them, and the more you will enjoy them.

But how do you find the books that are truly worth reading, if there are so few compared to the pulsating ebb and flow of new books put out every year?

I would suggest two ways:

1. Read the classics.

2. Find an intelligent, well-read, thoughtful person whom you respect, someone whose guidance on moral matters is trustworthy. Read what he or she suggests to you.

Option 1. is easier because you can find lists of the Great Books, and buy copies easily in any bookstore or borrow them in any library. But Option 2. is better if you can manage it, because a trustworthy friend’s recommendations for reading are worth their weight in gold. The friend knows you, after all, as well as the book. The friend doesn’t have to be someone you actually know in person, because you might find a writer whose advice is consistently trustworthy; for instance, I have done very well in reading books mentioned by C.S. Lewis in his own writing.

I am truly fortunate, though, in having real friends who recommend books to me, and not only that, friends with whom I can discuss books and ideas. If you have such a friendship, cherish it as the blessing that it is.

Let me open up the conversation – what have been your experiences with reading good books? For my fellow readers of classic books, how did you develop a taste for them?

What It Means to Follow Jesus: The Faithful Fishermen’s Perspective

2010-02-28T03:38:44Z

Following Jesus is not a means to some other end: he is the end in and of himself.

While the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he was standing by the lake of Gennesaret. And he saw two boats by the lake; but the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. Getting into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, he asked him to put out a little from the land. And he sat down and taught the people from the boat. And when he had ceased speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” And Simon answered, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.” And when they had done this, they enclosed a great shoal of fish; and as their nets were breaking, they beckoned to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; henceforth you will be catching men.” And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed him. (Luke 5.1-11)

I was talking to a young Marine the other day about his faith, and his life in the church, and his relationship with Jesus. He told me the story of a miracle that had happened to him; how, after significant prayer and searching, God had reached into his life and acted in a real and unmistakable way. It was a watershed moment for him and his relationship with God, literally shifting the course of his life. He began to reconsider his faith in a fresh way. He began to recognize God at work in the world. And he began going back to church.

Now this young Marine was raised in the church. And prior to this discernable act of God in his life, he definitely had a faith and a relationship with God. But as he described it, it wasn’t exactly a high priority in his life. He pointed to his intermittent church attendance as an example. As he explained it, after working 24 straight hours – from Saturday morning all the way through the graveyard shift Saturday night — he didn’t always feel like going straight to church on Sunday morning.

As he’s telling me this, I’m thinking, “who would?”

I think it’s enough of a struggle to get up for church even after a good night’s sleep, let alone after staying up all night.

When I think back, there were just a few times that I stayed up all night Saturday and went to church on Sunday morning. But I sure wasn’t “working” all night, and it sure wasn’t pleasant in the morning.

I think it would be difficult for anyone to work all night and go to church on Sunday.

It’s kind of crazy to think that the fishermen in today’s gospel did just that.

Imagine being one of these fishermen. You’ve been up all night fishing, and you didn’t even catch a darn thing. The sun comes up. You return to the shore empty-handed. You’re tired, cranky, probably hungry. And as you’re washing your nets and getting ready to go home, this Jesus guy comes by. There’s a whole mess of people crowding around him to hear him speak. He climbs into your boat, and asks you to row him just a bit off shore so the people can hear him speak. What do you do?

There’s no getting around the fact that the responsibilities and challenges of our daily lives are in constant competition with our relationship with Jesus. Work, school, family, friends, kids, relationships, late Saturday nights at Pizza Port, Chargers games, a nice, clean 3 to 4 foot northwest swell; there are an infinite number of reasons for not going to church on Sunday morning. We’ve all experienced them. Yes, even the priests. (Believe it or not, before I went to seminary I was a Saturday night guy; the Sunday-morning-snooze-bar was just too tempting.)

How difficult it can be to make room for Jesus in the midst of our labors – not just on Sunday, but every day!

So here we have these fishermen, who for some reason, get back into their boat. There’s clearly something about Jesus that is compelling enough for them to stick around and listen to him teach.

OK, so they listen to his sermon. It’s Jesus preaching, so no doubt it’s a killer sermon. He probably tells a couple funny jokes. The fishermen maybe space out a for a few minutes and daydream about the Superbowl. Finally, he comes to an end.

So if you are one of these fishermen, now are you ready to go home? I would be. “Thanks so much for the sermon, Jesus. Have a great week. See you next Sunday.”

But Jesus is only just getting started. He turns to you and says, “Why don’t we swing this boat around and sail out to the deep end, and you can let down your nets for a catch.”

Seriously.

Why would anyone do this? It goes against your own personal experience. You’ve already been out on the sea all night… you know there’s nothing out there.

And yet, with an inspiring mixture of faith and obedience, Peter and the others do what Jesus says, even though their own experience goes directly against Jesus’ instruction. Peter says, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.”

And miraculously, a gazillion fish swim right into the net.

Now here’s an interesting question. Did Jesus find the fish? Or did the fish find Jesus?

Sure, Jesus could have known where all the fish were hanging out. But the fish may just as well have been drawn to their maker.

Either way, the greater point is this: the fishermen’s efforts were only fruitful when Jesus was with them in the boat; when they were following his instructions; when they obeyed his Word.

Our Lord tells us in very clear words, “I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

Indeed, in that long night of toil and labor apart from Jesus, the fishermen were unable to bear any fruit. But despite their fatigue and no doubt skepticism, they followed Jesus’ Word and were met with such abundance that their boat almost sank.

How easy it is to toil for long periods of time before even realizing that all along we have been trying to do our work alone, apart from the free gifts of guidance and counsel and comfort and grace given to us through Our Lord Jesus Christ. Whether it’s relationships or jobs or schoolwork or health or decisions or dilemmas, Jesus’ promise to us is that when we abide in him and he in us, we will bear much fruit.

That promise was made manifest to those fishermen that morning.

I’m not a comedian guy, but some of you may know that I have a real soft-spot for a comedian named Jim Gaffigan. Jim is a Roman Catholic and so he tells lots of jokes about Bible stories. And he does this one bit about today’s fishermen. He says:

“The apostles are always used as an example of people that gave up everything to follow Jesus, they gave up everything. But you know, they were fishermen. It’s not like they were investment bankers. Jesus went up to them, ‘Hey, you know how you’re sitting out here in the blistering heat trying to catch fish in the Dead Sea?’

‘Yeah, it stinks.’

‘You want to follow me. I’m God. By the way, I can turn water into wine.’

‘All right, I’ll go with you.’

‘But there’s one condition: you have to give up everything, and I mean everything.’

‘So I leave the pole here?’”

It’s a funny bit, but Luke’s gospel actually paints a little different picture than Jim’s.

For starters, they are in the Sea of Galilee, not the Dead Sea.

But more significantly, Peter and his friends walked away from far more than just their poles, or even their boats.

Remember what just happened. Their life’s work revolved around the simple aim of trying to catch as many fish as possible. And with Jesus’ help, they had done just that. This load of fish was undoubtedly a record-breaking catch – possibly even the highlight of their careers.

They didn’t just walk away from their poles, or even their boats, but from this enormous payload, this over-abundance, this great success.

St. Luke writes, “when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed him.”

Surely an entrepreneurial temptation ran through someone’s mind: “Hey, if we could only get Jesus to go fishing with us all the time, we’d be set for life!”

How easy would it have been for them to “follow” Jesus as a means to further their own career.

But for those fishermen, following Jesus was not a means to an end. They did not follow him in order to “get this” or “gain that.” That Jesus provided for them in such a miraculous and abundant way was proof enough that he was all they needed.

The same is true for us. Following Jesus is not a means to some other end: he is the end in and of himself. He is the alpha and omega; the beginning and the end.

We do not follow Jesus to “get this” or “gain that.” He is all we need. For he is life itself.

As with the Marine I was talking to earlier in the week, one miracle changed the course of those fishermen’s lives forever; and through them the life of the world.

The church fathers see in this story an image of the very mission of the church. The boat is the Church. The nets are the Word of God, the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ spread throughout the world by the faithful witness and obedience of the apostles. And we, my friends, are the fish.

This miraculous event was merely a foreshadowing of the fulfillment of those words that Jesus spoke to Peter on that day, “Do not be afraid, henceforth you will be catching men.”

Beloved, as those who have been drawn into the boat, the body of Christ: let us heed the obedient examples of St. Peter, St. James, St. John, and the others who were with them on that day.

Let us not grow weary of listening to Jesus, of obeying Jesus, and of following Jesus. Amen.

Experiments with a Lenten Cupboard

2010-02-27T04:21:32Z

Two years ago I tried out a low-key Lenten practice (I won’t dignify it with the name of “discipline”). The idea was to keep a “Lenten cupboard”:that is, though I had not chosen to fast from any particular food, to make a determined effort to eat what I already had on hand, in my cupboards, freezer, and refrigerator. I discovered that it is very easy it is to buy something and let it sit around, not used. That whole-wheat pasta that has been sitting in the back of the cupboard… the box of cereal I got on sale and decided it’s only so-so… the half-used jar of mango jam that I always pass over in favor of raspberry…

Even though I considered myself a reasonably frugal person with regard to food, it was an eye opener to see the little ways in which I am not a good steward. It is wasteful to throw away good food that has spoiled because I didn’t get around to preparing it; I realized it is also wasteful to deliberately avoid finishing leftovers. I remember standing in front of the fridge one day, holding the door open (yes, wasting the cold air), debating with myself over what to have for dinner. What I really wanted to have was a hamburger. Reproaching me, sitting in its little Tupperware dish, was the last serving of a chicken fricassee that I’d made several days before. If I didn’t eat it right then, I knew I wouldn’t get to it for a couple more days… and by then it would have gone bad and I’d throw it out. Part of me said “Just let it go, it’s not a big deal.” But I decided to try to stick with my Lenten practice, so I ate leftover chicken fricassee for dinner.

It wasn’t very exciting. I still would have preferred the hamburger. But I managed to stick with my practice throughout Lent, for the most part, and ended up with a grocery bill that was lower than usual. The idea wasn’t to save money for myself, though, so I wrote a check to World Vision, since the youth group at my church was raising money for them through participating in the 30-Hour Famine program.

My little bit of culinary discipline had its benefits. It made me more grateful for what I have, even on the smallest level. After forty days of finishing up odds and ends, like that jar of mango jam, I was significantly more appreciative of the little pleasures I was taking for granted… like raspberry jam on my English muffins.

I’ve been thinking about that practice again this year, and realizing that the stewardship issue is actually a little bigger than I thought it was. Yes, it’s wasteful to let leftovers go to waste. But it’s also wasteful to buy something on impulse and then let it sit on the shelf indefinitely because my initial enthusiasm waned.

I have realized that negative discipline (not doing something) is more challenging for me than positive discipline (doing something). It wasn’t that hard for me to force myself to eat things that weren’t terribly exciting, or to discipline myself to eat the same thing for a bunch of meals in a row to use up some ingredients. It is much harder to resist the impulse to buy the extra food in the first place. It’s not just hard to resist the impulse to buy the new, interesting item; it’s also hard to stop myself from having more than I need of basic foods on hand. If – gasp!—I run out of milk, or eggs, or (horror of horrors) half and half for my coffee, will I starve? No, I won’t. If I run out of spaghetti, I can make something else for dinner – really!

Am I trying to create security for myself in food, in having a well-stocked cupboard? Very likely. How many and varied are the ways in which we cling to anything, everything for security rather than turning to the One who alone can provide that security!

The Spiritual Disciplines: Praying the Daily Office

2010-02-19T05:18:47Z

In 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, Paul gives us a bracing challenge: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

Pray without ceasing! How do you even get started?

There are many ways to approach the idea of constant prayer, but one way is through the spiritual discipline of praying the Daily Office: Morning and Evening Prayer.

The Daily Office is a lectionary-based liturgical style of prayer that combines Scripture readings with specific prayers for each season of the Christian calendar and indeed each week and day of the year. It is a structured yet flexible format for prayer, offering a “backbone” of Scripture combined with a framework of traditional written prayers (most of which draw specifically on Scripture verses for their language), with “space” built in for extemporaneous, personal prayer. By making choices about what to include and what to skip, each individual can personalize the Daily Office to fit different preferences and amounts of time, from 15 minutes to… however long you want to pray!

The benefits of praying the Daily Office are fourfold.

First, it helps deepen and expand one’s prayer. It is easy to fall into just doing one type of prayer, usually petitionary or intercessory. The Daily Office liturgies lead us through all five main types of prayer: adoration, contrition, intercession, petition, and thanksgiving.

Second, it helps us internalize God’s Word. Many of the recurring prayers and canticles come directly from the Bible. By praying these every single day, the words of Scripture become engraved on our hearts and minds.

Third, it immerses us in the Word. If you read both Morning and Evening Prayer, every day you will read two or more Psalms plus a reading from the Old Testament, one from the New Testament, and one from the Gospel. What’s more, the Scripture selections go in order, so if you read the Daily Office every day, you will find yourself reading through entire books of the Bible in a disciplined way. For example, during Lent this year the readings go through all of 1 Corinthians and the Gospel of Mark. Thus, we hear all of God’s word, not just our favorite passages.

Finally, praying the Daily Office is a discipline. Committing to praying the Morning or Evening Office means praying regardless of whether you really “feel like it” or not. It is a discipline because our choice to be obedient to Jesus, who tells us to pray, takes precedence over our transitory emotions. It teaches us to turn to God in prayer every day, not just the days when we feel pious or when we feel needy, and challenges us to confront our misplaced priorities. It is far too easy to make time with God something other than #1 on my priority list. If I am “too busy” or “too tired” to pray on a daily basis, that means I am putting something else higher than time with Him.

That said, praying the Daily Office is not about “getting it right” or racking up X number of prayer times per week, but rather about making a commitment to spend time in prayer with God on a daily basis. I tend to be a perfectionist, so my pastor was careful to remind me that while I should take the discipline seriously, it wasn’t something that I am locked into. There are days when I miss Evening Prayer because I have been away all day, or simply because I truly am tired or ill. What matters is to look at my overall pattern of prayer with discernment: am I making excuses for not praying regularly, or am I showing a healthy flexibility? For myself, if I am saying Evening Prayer 5-6 days out of 7, then I feel confident that I am being disciplined without making the prayer an end in itself.

I began doing Evening Prayer during Lent in 2008, by the recommendation of Fr Doran, who is my spiritual director. I found that it so enriched my prayer life that I made it an ongoing practice. In the summer of 2009, with the encouragement of one of our senior pastors, I added Morning Prayer, and once again found that this discipline helped deepen my relationship with Christ. What was initially a challenging commitment very quickly became a cherished part of my daily walk with Christ. I can feel a real difference in every aspect of my life when I start and finish the day with prayer. For one thing, I find myself more readily turning to God in prayer at various times during the day, not just during my scheduled prayer time!

By now, I hope you are at least a little bit intrigued by this spiritual discipline!

But wait… HOW do you pray the Daily Office?!? It’s easy. Let me walk you through it!

In order to read the Daily Office, you will need two things:

1. Your Bible.

2. The Book of Common Prayer.

The Book of Common Prayer is an Anglican prayer book that is readily available in any Christian bookstore or through Amazon. Created in 1500s England, it incorporates prayer from the very earliest Fathers of the Church, and prayers based on Holy Scripture, as well as prayers written by 16th century and later pastors. You can also find the contents of the BCP online here (in printable form) and also here at BCPonline.org.

The BCP contains the liturgy, the basic “structure” of the Office. The prayers are the same for every day. Note: feel free to shorten the Office by leaving out some parts of it. Keep it simple, and you’re more likely to do it!

Interleaved into the structure of the Daily Office are the Readings: one or more Psalms and one or more Scripture lessons. These readings will change for each day. You can find the readings for each day listed in the back of the BCP, under the title of Daily Office Lectionary. (Or click the appropriate link at the BCPonline.org version.) The Lectionary contains an entry for each day that tells you what the reading is for that day.

The Readings are arranged by the liturgical calendar. Sunday is the start of each week. For instance, as I write this, we are in the week of Last Epiphany (that is, the last week before Lent). We are in Year Two (we alternate between Year One and Year Two, with the Christian year starting in Advent).

So, let’s look at the listing for Friday of the week of Last Epiphany:

—————————-

Friday 95 & 31 * 35

Ezek. 18:1-4, 25-32 Phil. 4:1-9 John 17:9-19

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This listing includes psalms for the morning and psalms for the evening (the numbers with the star separating morning and evening psalms), and three selections from Scripture, which fit into the section called “Lessons” in the structure of the prayer service. You can choose how many readings you do. Personally, I choose to read one lesson at Morning Prayer and one at Evening Prayer.

Let’s say we are doing Evening Prayer on Friday of Last Epiphany.

Turn to the Evening Prayer I section in the Book of Common Prayer. If I am praying in a group, one person leads (the officiant) and everyone else responds, but if I am praying alone, I read everything myself, both verses and responses.

I usually skip over the first bits and start with the Invitatory, which is found on page 63. “O God, make speed to save us. O Lord, make haste to help us…” Next, I would say the hymn “O Gracious Light,” and then read the Psalm appointed for the evening: in this case, Psalm 35, followed by the Gloria Patri (Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit…). Then I would read the selection from the Epistle, in this case Philippians 4 verses 1-9, and take a few moments to reflect on it. I usually then move directly to reading the Gospel lesson, which for this day would be John 17, verses 9-19, and again reflect on it briefly. You can choose to read a canticle after each lesson, but I usually just read one, after the Gospel lesson, and I usually choose the Song of Simeon (which comes straight from Luke).

Now we have finished the Lessons and continue with the liturgy: the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and one of the sets of suffrages (general intercessory prayers), either A or B. I usually choose Suffrages A for the evening and Suffrages B for the morning.

Finally, we come to the Collect of the Day. Here you turn to the section of the Book of Common Prayer called “Collects” (I prefer the Traditional ones rather than the Contemporary ones). There is a collect, a short prayer, for each week in the Christian calendar. In this latter half of the week of Last Epiphany, we use the collect for Ash Wednesday, which reads as follows:

Almighty and everlasting God, who hatest nothing that thou has made and dost forgive the sins of all those who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Isn’t this a marvelous prayer to say as we enter the penitential season of Lent?

The Collect of the Day is followed by a collect specific to the day of the week, found back in the Evening Prayer liturgy. The Collect for Fridays is as follows:

O Lord Jesus Christ, who by thy death didst take away the sting of death: Grant unto us thy servants so to follow in faith where thou hast led the way, that we may at length fall asleep peacefully in thee, and awake up after thy likeness; for thy tender mercies’ sake. Amen.

This point in the liturgy is the perfect place for a time of personal, extemporaneous prayer. Sometimes I just spend a few moments quietly resting in Him before I head off to a busy day. Sometimes I conclude the Office immediately, and other times I spend quite a while in further prayer, with the specific things that I have on my mind or in my heart at that time.

After the collects, a few other short prayers are included that you can choose to pray through, or not, as you wish. The Daily Office then concludes with a closing sentence; each of the choices comes directly from Scripture. The closing sentence offers a clear ending to the Office, so that our personal prayers don’t just trail off into plans for the day or thoughts about who-knows-what. Instead, the closing sentence leaves us to start the day (or to wind down the day) with words of Holy Scripture on our lips and in our thoughts.

Although the Daily Office seems complicated at first, it gets easier very quickly. It is well worth the time it takes to get into the habit… and Lent is a wonderful opportunity to step forward into a deeper, more faithful prayer life. During this concentrated 40-day period, the mindful practice of spiritual disciplines like Morning or Evening Prayer can help us to grow in love and obedience to our Lord. Over our lifetimes, even a very small step taken during Lent can add up to significant spiritual growth and a deeper maturity in the faith.

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”

The Spiritual Disciplines: The Wings of Prayer

2010-02-19T05:16:21Z

Almsgiving, fasting, and prayer: these are the three essential disciplines that every Christian must practice if we are to have any hope of resisting evil. Our Lord himself in the Sermon on the Mount commends these disciplines to us.

Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21

“Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. “Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

There is one reason that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us; one reason our Lord Jesus Christ suffered and died on the cross… one reason why he rose victorious from the grave. That one reason is this: to save us from sin. The sin of our ancestors, and yes, our own sin.

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds [we] have been healed.” (1 Peter 2.24)

Sin is the universal problem. It leads to death.

Jesus is the universal solution. He gives us life.

The Christian life is a constant struggle to choose Jesus and resist sin. We know that in Christ is our life. And yet so often, as Jesus says to his disciples, “The Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

The great irony of sin is that while we can get ourselves into it, we cannot get ourselves out of it. The Rev. Dr. E.B. Pusey, one of the great spiritual lights of the Oxford Movement, writes, “We cannot give ourselves any grace: but we have the fearful power of not asking for it…What we have made ourselves, we cannot ourselves unmake.”

What Dr. Pusey is saying is that we cannot remove the effects of our own sin. For this we can only throw ourselves at the mercy of God and beg His forgiveness. And in so doing, we are comforted by the promise that, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (1 John 1.9)

Repentance is the only road to forgiveness. In fact, there are only two kinds of sinners: penitent and impenitent. The cry of the penitent sinner is the cry of the psalmist who says, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”

In our baptismal covenant each one of us promises to “persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever we fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.” The season of Lent is a special opportunity to do just this: persevere in resisting evil, and repent of the sins we have committed. In the ancient world a person covered himself in sackcloth and ashes as a sign of his deep remorse and heartfelt sorrow for his sin. The ashes with which we mark our foreheads on Ash Wednesday serve the very same purpose; they are a sign of deep remorse and heartfelt sorrow for our sin.

For those of us who practice sacramental confession as part of a rule of life, Lent is an important time for confession and spiritual direction. If you do not practice sacramental confession as part of your rule of life, Lent is a good opportunity to consider beginning that spiritual discipline.

Repentance is what we do when we sin, but what about preventing sin?

No serious athlete or soldier engages in competition or battle without first dedicating themselves to rigorous training and preparation. Even with the best training and preparation, victory is not guaranteed. But to engage without any training at all is almost certain failure.

The Christian life and our battle against sin is no different — except that the stakes couldn’t be any higher. To engage in this battle against sin without any training is almost certain failure. How then do we train to resist evil? There are three essential disciplines that every Christian ought to practice.

Almsgiving helps us turn from the attractions of the world. Fasting helps us to control the desires of the flesh. Prayer helps us to defeat the wiles of Satan.

Almsgiving strengthens our love of others.

Fasting strengthens our denial of self.

Prayer strengthens our devotion to God.

These three disciplines go together. They are not meant to stand in isolation.

Vernon Staley in The Catholic Religion writes: “It is not uncommon for Christians who pray, to omit the kindred duties of fasting and almsgiving. This is clearly wrong, for our Blessed Lord has coupled them with prayer; Fasting and Almsgiving are the wings of Prayer.”

The wings of prayer! Now that’s an amazing thought.

How often do we pray? How often do we give alms? How often do we fast? Each one of these spiritual disciplines ought to be a regular part of every Christian’s Rule of Life.

Now of these three, probably the most foreign to our culture is fasting. Why do we fast? What does it have to do with resisting evil?

Again from Staley’s Catholic Religion: “The object of fasting is that the flesh may be subdued to the spirit; in other words, that the body may become an apt and willing minister to the soul. St. Leo the Great wrote, “A man has true freedom when his flesh is ruled by the judgment of his mind, and his mind is directed by the government of God… If we are able to deny ourselves in things lawful, we shall be better able to deny ourselves in things unlawful.”

The point of fasting is to discipline our bodies to be completely obedient to our souls, so that when our souls are completely obedient to God, everything is in its proper place.

So often our souls are in the right place — desirous of loving and obeying God — and yet we still fall prey to sin. It is because our souls are not in control of our bodies. The discipline of fasting seeks to correct this.

Confession of sin, almsgiving, fasting, and prayer: all these spiritual disciplines ought to be a regular part of every Christian’s Rule of Life. Our Lenten Rule is merely an opportunity to focus and enhance our year-round Rule.

If you have a Rule of Life and have been successful in keeping it, God bless you! Lent is a good opportunity to add a little more to your rule.

If you have a Rule of Life and have struggled to keep it, welcome to the club! Lent is a good opportunity to focus on keeping that rule.

If you do not have a Rule of Life, Lent is the perfect opportunity to begin one.

Yes, the season of Lent is an equal opportunity season.

Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord? Yes, we will — with God’s help.

Hope and Love on the Way of the Cross: The Transfiguration of Jesus

2010-02-15T01:00:11Z

Jesus’ Transfiguration reveals in all its fullness the mind-boggling nature of his voluntary act of self-sacrifice. This voluntary act of self-sacrifice has a name — and that name is Love.

Luke 9.28-36.

Now about eight days after these sayings he took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his countenance was altered, and his raiment became dazzling white. And behold, two men talked with him, Moses and Eli’jah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his departure, which he was to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and those who were with him were heavy with sleep, and when they wakened they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. And as the men were parting from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is well that we are here; let us make three booths, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah”–not knowing what he said. As he said this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” And when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silence and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen.

Epiphany, the season between Christmas and Lent, is a celebration of the wonderful, saving truth that the Creator of the universe has made Himself known to His creation. Almighty God, He who is unknowable, incomprehensible, infinite, and uncreated, has become fully present and physically tangible to all of humanity. How has He accomplished this impossible task? By becoming a human being Himself. The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us. God has revealed Himself fully to the whole world in the person of Jesus Christ. This is our Epiphany celebration.

It is quite fitting then, that on the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany, we celebrate the Transfiguration of Our Lord. The Transfiguration is the consummation – or the climax – of Epiphany. This mysterious and miraculous event on the mountaintop is an unmistakable reminder that the tender infant in the manger, the small boy presented in the temple, the young man baptized in the waters of the Jordan, is in truth the God of the universe.

What happened on that mountaintop?

In St. John’s gospel, Jesus says, “I and the Father are one,” (John 10.30) and “he who has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14.9). At his Transfiguration these words are mystically fulfilled.

The light that shone so brightly that day was not a light shining down from heaven upon Jesus. It was the uncreated light of God Himself, bursting forth from within Jesus. For just a moment, Peter, James, and John beheld the Lord Jesus Christ in all his radiant glory: God of God, light of light, very God of very God, begotten not made, of one being with the Father.

It’s hard to blame these disciples for their excited bewilderment. It must have been a disorienting experience. Quite naturally, they mistake this event as somehow being the end of all they had been waiting for: the end of their journey, the end of their mission. Peter is ready to build booths, to set up camp and stay awhile. But Jesus’ Transfiguration is not the end of his mission; in fact, the mission has only just begun. While the disciples are ready to stay put, Jesus is on the move.

Where is he headed?

The calendar of the church year shows us the way . . . twice, actually. Some of you may know that we celebrate the Transfiguration not only at the end of Epiphany, but again every August 6^th. In both cases, this glorious event marks the beginning of a much darker road. Our celebration today takes place on the cusp of a 40-day journey that leads us straight to the cross. (Yes, that’s a reference to Lent). Likewise on August 6^th, if you count forward 40 days you will land on September 14^th, which is the feast of the Holy Cross. The calendar models the life of Our Lord who, after revealing himself as God on one mountaintop, begins his journey towards another: that of Calvary.

Which brings us to our final question: why the Transfiguration? What is its purpose and meaning? The answer is realized some 40 days into the future… on the cross.

Jesus’ revelation to his disciples is a gift to them. It is a vision of hope: of promised resurrection and future glory. They are given this vision to carry with them as they journey the way of the cross with Jesus.

We too must take the Transfiguration with us, on our journey to the cross.

Now you may think, “Well, I wasn’t there on top of that mountain.” But consider this. Many of us have experienced our own revelations of God in the person of Jesus Christ: those times when God has made Himself known to us in profound and unmistakable ways along the road of life.

These experiences are given to us for the very same reason the Transfiguration is given to the disciples: to be visions of hope, of promised resurrection and future glory. They are gifts to us especially for those darker periods in our lives, when we find ourselves in the valley of the shadow of death. God gives us these experiences to take with us as we journey the way of the cross with Our Lord. They are sure and certain reminders that He is real, that we are not alone, that He is with us in our suffering, just as He is in our times of deliverance and celebration.

The Transfiguration is God’s gift to us, a gift of the vision of hope at the foot of the cross.

But that is only the beginning.

The connection between the Transfiguration and the cross goes far deeper than this; it reveals to us the motive of the mission itself.

However, for this we must set the stage.

The Transfiguration is not the first time God has revealed Himself. Throughout the course of salvation history, He has done so in a variety of ways to a select few. One such revelation was to Moses on top of Mt. Sinai. Yet, as God says to Moses at that moment, “no man shall see my face and live.” (Exodus 33.20). So on that mountain with Moses, God literally covers Moses with His hand as He passes by Him — that he might live.

In another revelation, with the prophet Elijah, God does not come to him in a violent earthquake, or a raging fire, but rather in a gentle wind, so that Elijah would remain unharmed.

And so it is with Peter, James, and John. At the Transfiguration they witness the revelation of Almighty God: the voice of the Father, the glory of the Son, and the cloud of the Spirit enveloping them. They are privileged to behold the All-Holy Trinity . . . and live!

God says, “No man shall see my face and live.” Jesus says, “He who has seen me has seen the Father.” Christ’s identity as God is fully revealed at his Transfiguration.

And yet, this is the same Christ who will be betrayed in the garden. This is the same Christ who will stand before Pilate and be condemned to death. This is the same Christ who will be whipped and thrashed by the soldiers. This is the same Christ who will fall repeatedly into the dust of the earth under the weight of the cross.

This is the same Christ who will be stripped of his garments, nailed to the wood, pierced in the side.

This same Christ, who on the mount of Transfiguration shines with the pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven, will on the mount of Calvary die on the cross.

Here we see a most significant connection between the Transfiguration and the cross: the revelation of the divinity of Jesus at the Transfiguration is confirmation that his blessed passion and precious death were voluntary.

The Transfiguration is confirmation of Jesus’ own words, “No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again; this charge I have received from my Father” (John 10.18). And again at his arrest in the garden, “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” (Matthew 26.53)

No soldier or bystander could have withstood the glory of God in the face of Christ. It is of Jesus’ own free will that he allows them to destroy him. For their sake even — for their own deliverance from the power of sin and death — he sustains them in grace as they put him to death.

Jesus’ Transfiguration reveals in all its fullness the mind-boggling nature of this voluntary act of self-sacrifice. And this voluntary act of self-sacrifice has a name — and that name is Love.

Love, by definition, is voluntary. It is not mandatory. It is free. It is not something we have to do. It is something we desire to do, not counting the cost. Love is what we give, regardless of what we get in return.

The Transfiguration reveals for us the essence of Christ’s pure love for us on the cross: to be by very nature God, and to freely and voluntarily lay down his life for his friends.

True love is the motive of the mission.

True love . . . dies on the cross.

On the cross, Jesus is patient and kind; he is not jealous or boastful.

On the cross, Jesus is not arrogant or rude; he does not insist on his own way.

On the cross, Jesus is not irritable or resentful; he does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.

On the cross, Jesus bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. The love and life that Jesus gives to us on the cross . . . never ends.

Made in God’s image, we too are free to walk in love, just as Christ loved us, and gave himself up for us. Beloved, let us pick up our cross, and follow him.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

The Romance of Celibacy

2010-02-15T00:58:02Z

Celibacy? Romance? How can those two things go together?

Friends, I argue that celibacy is indeed a romance. It is not a negative, but a positive choice; it is not the denial of love but rather a loving commitment made to Christ as the Beloved. Celibacy is the opposite of marriage only in the sense that a coin has two opposite faces: marriage and celibacy are two sides of the coin of love in Christ.

Many people are confused about the difference between celibacy and chastity, so let me briefly define them. Celibacy is the condition of refraining from marriage or any sexual activity; it is a charism, a gift of the Holy Spirit. Chastity is the condition of appropriate sexuality in one’s particular state, whether married or single.

All Christians are called to be chaste – all Christians, at all times. For single people, that means refraining from sexual activity until such time as they are married. For married people, chastity means fidelity to one’s spouse and appropriately participating in the marital act.

All Christians are called to be chaste, but not all are called to be celibate. Most Christians are called to marriage, and so will practice chastity in both the single state and the married state at different times. Marriage is a profound mystery of the Christian faith, instituted by God before the Fall; it is a mystical union that reflects the union of Christ and His Church.

But some Christians are called not to marriage, but to celibacy, which is more than just an extended period of chastity – it is a particular calling, and a gift. It’s no surprise that the wider culture doesn’t understand celibacy, but even within the Christian community, celibacy is often misunderstood. It’s not a state of waiting for the right person. It’s not a condition of having given up on finding a spouse. Really!

Rather, celibacy is a gift, the charism of deliberately choosing a life of total chastity for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven.

As such, it is not the opposite of marriage, but its complement.

Consider Jesus’ teaching on celibacy in Matthew 19. Jesus had just been speaking about marriage – in the strongest possible terms. He calls the listeners’ attention to Genesis, saying “Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.” (Matthew 19:5-6).

In response, the disciples, alarmed by the prospect of marriage without divorce, exclaimed “If such is the case of a man with his wife, it is better not to marry” (Matthew 19:10). In other words, they saw celibacy as the negative option: the only option if marriage seems like too much responsibility.

Jesus replied by saying, “Not everyone can receive this saying, but only those to whom it is given. For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by men, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let the one who is able to receive this receive it.” (Matthew 19:11-12).

For some, an extended period of chastity may come because of circumstances: a necessary choice due to physical issues or disorders, or because of harm done in the past. We cannot expect that it will be easy to follow Christ, and for some people, celibacy is the cross that they must bear. Suffering is at the heart of the Christian faith – we worship Christ who suffered and died on the Cross for our redemption – and we should not make the mistake of thinking that it is possible to follow Christ without any suffering or self-denial. As Jesus says earlier in Matthew, “whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10: 38-39).

But when Jesus speaks of celibacy, it is not just in the context of suffering. There are those who are celibate “for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.” The Kingdom of Heaven! Suddenly this doesn’t seem so much like self-denial… in fact, it seems a lot more like an invitation to participate more fully and more deeply in the mystery of Christ. An invitation? Indeed, yes: for Jesus says, “Let the one who is able to receive this receive it.” We receive celibacy as a gift, an invitation to participate in a deep mystery of relationship with Christ. The one who is called to celibacy does not enter into marriage, and thus does not bear or sire children, but instead directs that energy and attention into his or her relationship with Christ.

But notice what comes next in Matthew’s gospel: “Then children were brought to him that he might lay his hands on them and pray. The disciples rebuked the people, but Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.’ And he laid his hands on them and went away” (Matthew 19:13-15).

The call to celibacy is framed on either side by marriage: by commitment to marriage between the man and the woman, and by loving care of the children who are the fruit of that union. The disciples try to keep those annoying kids away from their teacher, but our Lord insists that the children come to Him. Celibacy does not mean that you don’t like kids, or that you don’t think raising children is important. For me, at any rate, being celibate and childless means that the children of my friends are precious to me, and I consider it a true privilege and blessing to be the “auntie” for them and all the children in my church family.

Celibacy is the complement of marriage. It is a choice made for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a path of self-sacrifice, a participation in the way of the Cross – but so too is marriage. Each has its challenges and sacrifices, each its joys and blessings. Both the married and the celibate participate in the Body of Christ and receive God’s grace in the roles to which He has called them. And both celibacy and marriage center on love – the love of Christ. May we all honor Him every day by living our lives in joyful chastity.

Salvation and Marriage

2010-02-15T01:00:56Z

Marriage plunges spouses right into the heart of the mystery of Christ.

And Pharisees came up and in order to test him asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” He answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of divorce, and to put her away.” But Jesus said to them, “For your hardness of heart he wrote you this commandment. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.” Mark 10.2-9

This past fall, late night talk show host David Letterman interviewed pop icon and sexual revolutionary Madonna. Last December Madonna divorced her most recent husband, so in his interview, Dave (who is having some relational issues of his own these days) asked Madonna if there were any aspects of marriage that she missed. He asked point blank, “Do you think you’ll ever be married again?” To which Madonna promptly replied, “I’d rather get run over by a train.” (Not much ambiguity there).

No doubt there are many others who would share Madonna’s sentiment. The destruction of the marriage ideal is just one part of the widespread collateral damage caused by our sinful nature.

In a culture which grows increasingly supportive of promiscuity, permissiveness, pleasure, and self-gratification, the institution of marriage and its inherent values of fidelity, monogamy, and life-long commitment seem to have faded into the mists of time. Nowadays, marriage is commonly viewed as passé, old-fashioned, irrelevant, and unnecessary.

But while our culture has pretty much completely lost the meaning of marriage, as the church we are bound to reclaim, restore, and preserve it. In fact, it’s not too much to say that our salvation depends on it.

As Christians — whether we are married or not — if we do not have a proper understanding of marriage, then we cannot have a proper understanding of the hope of our redemption. The two are inextricably linked. Contrary to Madonna’s sentiment, marriage was not to be for us an illustration of hell, but rather an icon of heaven, created by God, and manifested fully to us through the Incarnation, death, and Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Now you may wonder, what does marriage really have to do with Jesus? He was never married, right? Wrong! Jesus IS a spouse; he is a husband; he is, in fact, the bridegroom. And we – the Church – are his bride. And it is in our marriage to Christ – union with Christ — that our salvation is made complete.

The story goes like this. We humans were created to be in perfect communion with God. And this vision of perfect communion was fulfilled through the Incarnation of Our Lord, who reconciled in himself the human and the divine; in him, the two have become one. Our hope of redemption, of reunion, of perfect and complete communion with the living God is fulfilled in Our Lord Jesus Christ.

And he invites us into that union.

The whole sacramental life can be related to marriage. In fact, “all the sacraments church have a ‘nuptial’ character since their purpose is to unite the Bride (the Church) with her Bridegroom (Christ).”(1) In this way, “The entire Christian life bears the mark of the spousal love of Christ and the Church.” (2)

Earthly marriage, then, is a natural and intentional reflection of this heavenly marriage to which we are all called.

The union of husband and wife in holy matrimony is a living, breathing, incarnate icon of that perfect union of Christ and his Church which is our salvation, our redemption, our ultimate spiritual consummation and bliss.

Viewed through this lens of union with God, we begin to see just how sacred and profound marriage really is. It plunges spouses right into the heart of the mystery of Christ.

Alas, outside of the Christian purview – and even within it — the spiritual meaning of marriage continues to unravel.

In particular, the physical dimensions of this sacred union are falling to pieces. Our sexuality has long since been unleashed from what the culture perceives as the old-fashioned confines of marriage. But our sexuality was created for the express purpose of consecrating this most holy union, as Our Lord himself demonstrates for us. The heart of Christ’s physical love for his bride the Church is found in the action of his sacrifice of himself on the cross, when he says, “This is my body . . . given for you” (Luke 22.19).

Our bridegroom Jesus Christ actually demonstrates four particular qualities of love for his bride the Church, qualities of love that specifically involve his body. Like his Word these qualities they serve as a lamp unto our feet and light unto our own relational paths.

These four qualities come from Pope John Paul II’s magnificent work, The Theology of the Body.

“First, Christ gives his body freely (“No one takes my life from me, I lay it down of my own accord,” Jn 10.18).

Second, he gives his body totally – without reservation, condition, or selfish calculation (“He loved them to the last,” Jn 13.1).

Third, he gives his body faithfully (“I am with you always,” Mt 28.20).

And fourth, he gives his body fruitfully (“I came that they may have life,” Jn 10.10).

If men and women are to avoid the pitfalls of counterfeit love, and live their vocation to its full, their union must express the same free, total, faithful, fruitful love that Christ expresses.” (3)

This is precisely what a bride and groom commit to at the altar with the words spoken in their vows. Their physical union in the marital act when “the words of the wedding vows become flesh. It’s where men and women are meant to incarnate divine love,” and in fact every time a husband and wife engage in the marital act they are “renewing their wedding vows with the language of their bodies.” (4)

The physical union of husband and wife then, is literally the outward and visible sign of the sacrament of Holy Matrimony.

I know that all this can sound like some impossible ideal when we consider the complexities of our relationships and the brokenness of our own sinful natures. But if we do not understand this fundamental vision of marriage, than we have absolutely no hope of attaining that vision. The whole idea of progress is predicated on a common vision or ideal that a people, or a couple, or a culture can work towards. If there is no goal or vision to move toward, then we are not progressing but regressing. As progressive Christians, it is essential for us to understand these fundamentals of marriage.

Our Lord has profoundly and selflessly demonstrated that the heart of divine love is the complete self-offering of ourselves — our souls and bodies — to our beloved.

Love is not about what we get, it is about what we give.

Love is sacrifice.

May Our Lord have mercy on us all, married, single, divorced, widowed, lonely, young and old alike; and may he give us the grace in all our relationships to increasingly walk in love just as Christ loved us, and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Amen.

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References:

1) Christopher West, Theology of the Body for Beginners: A Basic Introduction to Pope John Paul II’s Sexual Revolution, (West Chester: Ascension Press, 2004), 86.

2) Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1617.

3) Theology of the Body for Beginners, p. 91.

4) Ibid, p. 92.