Tag Archives: holy

Chapter 19: how the Office should be performed

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We believe that God is everywhere, and the Lord sees both good and evil in all places.

Why go to church?

As we come into land on the specific matters of prayer in a monastic community, like that of the previous section on ‘matters of authority’ (chapter 1 – 7), St. Benedict ends on an idealistic vision; a goal to aim for. He begins this picture by affirming

God is everywhere.

He does this to acknowledge that, yes, we don’t have to go to a particular place with a particular group of people to pray. You, as an individual, can pray in any place at any time but there is a time and place to specifically go to where his presence is particularly felt. This reminds me of words from Common Worship’s Eucharistic Prayer A which says,

It is indeed right, it is our duty and our joy, at all times and in all places to give you thanks and praise, holy Father, heavenly King, almighty and eternal God, through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord.

It does not take long for St. Benedict to highlight an often forgotten aspect of this argument; that, just as you can be in contact with God at any time and in any place you wish, so can he be with you seeing

…both good and evil in all places.

It is surprisingly frequent that I hear people proclaim their belief that you don’t need to go to church to be a Christian. Although I agree with that statement the assumption is not correct. What the person often means (you discover after some further questions) is that to be Christian is a matter of belief alone, ascribing to some statements as true or false or ‘hedging your bets’. To go to Church is seen as an unnecessary waste of time when you’ve already signed to say you are willing to be identified and ‘protected’ as a Christian (until it gets tough). The people I hear this from often cite the truth that God is everywhere and they can pray (if they want to) wherever they are. Indeed many people admit they pray, i.e. they say some words and, as much as they can tell, if God does exist, they think he hears and will act on their behalf.

What these people don’t always care to realise is that those moments when they are not aware of God, when they don’t consider God’s presence with them, God is still everywhere and he ‘sees both good and evil in all places.’ God can become an agent who is commanded to turn up when we ring our prayer bell and depart when we do not require his services. What this means is, that if you want to take seriously the belief that God is everywhere and this means you don’t have to go to church to be a Christian then you must also admit that God is part of every aspect of your life. Being a Christian is not about going to a particular location at a set time but it is about a genuine relationship; a relationship that is two way.

What makes someone a Christian is an active desire to be continually shaped into the likeness of Christ. We do this by reading Scripture and seeing the character of God, perfectly revealed in the person of Jesus in the Gospels. We do this by gathering with other people who are desiring the same change into their lives and discerning together what it means and looks like to be like Jesus. Church then becomes not a place you have to go to but a place where Christians gather to share, to be encouraged, to see Christ in other people and to re-commit themselves to the task of transformation. It is a hospital where the continual healing of our lives can be done in a safe space. We also get shaped into the likeness of Jesus by prayer. Prayer, in this instance, is about inviting God to enter into your life and begin the work of transformation and change. Prayer is the way we open up the wounds of our life to God who can heal us and set us free.

Change is always painful because there is some loss involved. Change can be exciting as well as new things begin to emerge but, as St. Paul says in Romans,

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:22-23)

Prayer is a two-way relationship one where we are invited to speak and share, to cry out for change, but it is where God is invited, by us, to speak and share, to cry out for change, often starting in our own lives. When prayer is only seen as a formal request to an unknown agent who delivers what we order then it falls and rarely satisfies. Prayer is about relationship and that is why it is harder than most people think because prayer asks something of us; it invites us to change and to lose something, an addiction to something that distracts or comforts us apart from God. We don’t care to admit it but we love the chains that holds us and imprison us (see ‘Lovers of Chains‘ post). We are all addicts to something and need healing and liberation. We rarely ask for it because the process is tough and the thought of letting that thing we deify, we hold up as our God, to go is inconceivable.
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Blind to Addiction

It is in R Kelly’s questionable song that he says,

My mind is telling me no but my body my body’s telling me yes

We are torn, as human beings, between that which we might consider noble and that which is more ‘instinctive’. Our conscience is trained to know what is right but our issue, increasingly, in our culture is that there is less shared ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. We do, however, continue to talk as if there is but everything is up for questions as authority is moved and changes. The difference between that which is ‘noble’ and that which is ‘instinctive’ is about that which raises us out of purely materialistic desires, the tangible and the animalistic into a realm of rationality and consciousness. These should be united but they are not always so.

We are creatures that can justify action. There is a wealth of opinion and countless beliefs we can articulate and ascribe to and any action can be explained. We are also in a culture of precedent so if someone else has done it then it is possible for someone else to do it too. This means when barriers are pushed and moved, they are irrevocably pushed and moved. We hope that our beliefs will inform our action but I think the other way is more true; our need to justify, to ourselves as well as to others, our actions shape our beliefs (if I did x I must believe y).

You will see this insight when you live with an addict. Their dependency on a particular substance is rationally justified. It is the extreme cases of alcohol and drugs that we are more aware of it but this justification that comes out of the mouth of those addicts comes out of all our mouths at some point. We may phrase it differently but it is the same,

I can’t help myself.

I need that person to feel secure.

Surely if this makes me happy it’s not wrong.

We justify to ourselves why we need the props and crutches in our lives and religion can be one of them. Having crutches is not necessarily a problem; if you have a broken leg it is helpful for a time of healing but the aim is to let go of the crutch and be free. Religion is a crutch while we heal, the aim is to be free.

My brother in law gave an image, which I find helpful. He was talking about the Law of Moses as St. Paul talks about in Romans. He sees the Law of Moses as a cast which you place over a broken part of our body; the cast does not heal the break but it protects it while it heals. The healing comes from the Spirit. The same is true, I think, of crutches. What is important is not the crutch but the healing.

The problem is we have an odd relationship with crutches. The analogy breaks down after a while so maybe it would be easier to talk about pain-killers. These are helpful and help us live with illness and pain but they can also become something we rely on and therefore blind us from our awareness of the need to heal. The initial problem may disappear but we don’t know and we become addicted to the pain-killers and we justify it to ourselves that we believe we still need them.

Reflection

St. Benedict ends this chapter with an interesting sentence,

Let us rise in chanting that our hearts and voices harmonise.

The aim in prayer is that our hearts and voices harmonise; so what we say is what’s in our heart but also what’s in our hearts is what we say. This extends, I think, to our actions too.
To be Christian is not about going to Church, about saying the right things, but is it is about allowing and inviting God into your lives to transform you into the likeness of Jesus. To be like Jesus is to have your voice and heart harmonised and that your heart is instinctively noble; that which you do without thinking is pure and Godly. We don’t perform Jesus but we become Jesus. We know what Jesus is really like by Scripture, by other Christians and saints and by prayer and the work of Holy Spirit through that relationship. Our authority then must be on three things: Scripture, Tradition and Reason.

Heavenly Father, you are indeed everywhere, you are with us at all times and in all places and you stand at the door to our lives and knock. You never force yourself in but you are wanting to be in our lives to make all things new. I’m sorry for the times that I have sent you back out of the door to hide parts of my life from you. I lie to myself and train myself to believe that you are in it all and you bless all my thoughts and actions but I know that that isn’t true because I’m not yet like your Son, Jesus.

Come, Lord Jesus

Struggling with No-Man’s Land

I have, in the past, been a fan of the part ii’s, the part iii’s, etc. I was going to name this post ‘Fleeing to No-Man’s Land (part ii)’ but I realised that the verb was wrong. I am calling this ‘Struggling with No-Man’s Land’ because that better describes my honest, if not entirely correct, emotion at the moment. This post comes from my continued reflection on the community which I love, Burning Fences.

If you have not read my first reflection, which I remain completely committed to, then please read it here before proceeding…

…

Nomansland …Ok. Since I wrote that reflection there has been a growing sense of some footing being lost amongst us. We have felt, at different moments, that we have lost our way or the passion has waned. This has been due to various small events in the life of our community which have combined to create not a destruction or a despair but a niggle, a question to arise: what are we doing?

I, in a broken and fumbled way, attempted to voice this concern to my fellow fence burners to see if I was alone; I was not. I tried then to gauge where this ‘dis-satisfaction’ was coming from. It was not clear. We all had different theories and, therefore, different solutions. We gathered together for a weekend away and I ‘hosted’ the space. I didn’t do a perfect job but I tried my best but even at the end of this wonderful time together there was a niggle; quiet but persistent, like a headache which has become habitual, not debilitating but present, sometimes forgettable but, in the still times returns to remind and prompt attention.

After the weekend away I sent out an email to some to see if people thought it might be good to have an open meeting to discuss this ambiguous question of how to acknowledge what Burning Fences is.

This desire to define and name came with a great heaviness for me as I still believe that there is a danger in this course of action. With definition come boundaries to cross, requirements to meet, entitlement to battle with, etc. The temptation to do so is great and most follow it but seem to come unstuck by it. I wonder whether this is our challenge, as a community, to pioneer the narrow path away from it and lead others to a secret place of truly organic and free space. Is such a place possible?

And this is why this post is called ‘Struggling with No-Man’s Land’ because I am deeply torn. The call/demand on my inner being to follow suit and define this community is great. I have justified how we can do it without damaging the freedom we have enjoyed in not defining or acknowledging. Most of these justifications come from a deeply held understanding that with no markers we must be prone to float from one thing to another and there is no defence against any ‘spirit’ or idea which could equally destroy than strengthen, enslave as to liberate. There is, in this non-demarcated space no source of discernment accept our flawed concepts of reality and shifting judgments.

the_clearing_by_crossie A wise brother amongst us wrote a deeply honest and profound response to my call for a discussion. He named the beauty of Burning Fences as ‘a clearing’. He writes,

We run into problems when any one group tries to colonise the clearing.

That sentence struck me as deeply important. How? I’m not sure.

In a discussion about Burning Fences with someone on the periphery looking in we were described, by them, as either,

A secular space in which Christians inhabit and live out their faith.

Or,

A space created by Christians and where anyone and everyone is invited to come and inhabit.

Both have strengths and weaknesses. The first image has the strength of describing the Christian as a resident alien, a guest who honours the code of hospitality that guests have. It’s weakness is that it can easily be seen as an invasion or takeover. The second image develops a sense of hospitality. There is a basic assumption in good hospitality that the guest is free to make the space their own and the host serves them and welcomes. The problem comes when the power is mis-read and, no matter how much it is expressed, the space is never owned by the guest.

There are big questions here of our understanding of hospitality and one which we must wrestle with but both these images are not apt descriptions of Burning Fences because the space in both has an ownership by one party. Hospitality requires a power-game between host and guest. My wise friend and fellow fence burner is closer: it is a clearing which is not owned by anyone. It is ‘no-man’s land’.

The beauty of No-Man’s Land is that it is neutral territory where everyone is simultaneously both host and guest. The different parties come together and build together.

It reminds me of Vincent Donovan’s approach to his mission to the Masai described in ‘Christaianity Rediscovered’. He writes this,

…the unpredictable process of evangelization, [is] a process leading to that new place where none of us has ever been before. When the gospel reaches a people where they are, their response to that gospel is the church in a new place, and the song they will sing is that new, unsung song, that unwritten melody that haunts all of us. What we have to be involved in is not the revival of the church or the reform of the church. It has to be nothing less than what Paul and the Fathers of the Council of Jerusalem were involved in for their time – the refounding of the Catholic church for our age. (Vincent Donovan, Christianity Rediscovered (London: SCM Press, 2009) p.xix)

It was in No-Man’s land that peace came, for the briefest of moments during the Great War. It was in the middle of the deeply dug trenches that people were free to meet and experience peace in a simple game of football; neutral, no power games, shared. This is the beauty of such a clearing.

I begin to realise that my issue at the weekend away was the locus of hospitality was skewed. I, along with a select few others, were ‘hosting’, and others considered themselves ‘guests’. This has a definite dynamic in the relationship and how people respond to the space created. What I wanted was a shared ownership but I attempted to achieve this by ‘hosting’. This is where the invitation to a radically different hospitality comes into its own. One which I consider godly; where the host is the guest, the guest the host and service is from all to all in a beautiful mutually loving community.

But is it sustainable?

In this space, what is the source of discernment? What is the shared authority? What fosters peace and reconciliation? What is it that guards against colonisation? For me, as a Christian, what does it mean to see God’s Kingdom extend and grow in this place where no name can be spoken over it? Where does No-Man’s people move to?

orthodox-priest-in-kiev-jan-22-2014 This is our quest: to inhabit, together, No-Man’s Land. To share the space making no claim on it for ourselves or the parties, agendas and personal empires which we are tempted to enforce. We desire, however, to build our home there for to be at peace one must feel a sense of belonging. To what are we committing and how can that be spoken in this between place?

I am convinced this is our challenge and one which, if manifested, will break a temptation that many groups have suffered under. There is a great weight to the task that lies before us and I pray to God for wisdom and boldness to enter in.

Chapter 16: the Day Office

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The prophet says: “Seven times daily I have sung your praises… I arose at midnight to confess to You.”

Why prayer?

There seems to me to be a distinction in ministry between those who are apostolic and those who are monastic. These two distinctions traditionally make up the balance of the Church’s mission in the world; ‘to go and tell the world’ and ‘to watch and pray’. These two calls on the Church make up the heart of the New Monastic Movement, ‘contemplative action’. The Northumbria Community speak of this as their call to being ‘Alone Together’.

As a Community we’ve always understood the need to balance ‘a prayer that is quiet and contemplative with a faith that is active and contagious’, in expressing our way for living.

St. Benedict, in this chapter, gives reasons for the Divine Offices by quoting Psalm 118 (119),

I arose at midnight to confess to you… Seven times a day have I sung your praises.

Therefore, in Benedictine communities, they pray at eight set times a day: Matins (midnight) and then, Lauds (before sunrise), Prime (6am), Terce (9am), Sext (midday), None (3pm), Vespers (evening/6pm) and Compline (bedtime/9pm). This rigorous pattern of prayer just emphasises again the centrality of the call of such monastic communities to prayer and contemplation. Thomas Merton finishes off his wonderful book ‘Contemplative Prayer’ with these words,

Without contemplation and interior prayer the Church cannot fulfil her mission to transform and save mankind. Without contemplation, she will be reduced to being servant of cynical and worldly powers, no matter how hard her faithful may protest that they are fighting for the Kingdom of God. (Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer (London: Darton, Longmann and Todd, 2010) p.144)

I quote Merton here because in this book and his other work ‘Seeds of Contemplation’, dedicated to the practice of contemplation, he continually links it to the mission and practical action of the Church in society. For this spiritual writer, famed for his call to the hermitage, the life of a monastic is intrinsically linked to the missional and apostolic work of the Body of Christ. Without one you cannot have the other.

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Monastic Apostles/Apostolic Monks

Monastic comes from the Greek word, monastikos (from the root: monos – alone). Monastikos means ‘to live alone’ and was used to describe the hermits and Desert Fathers and Mothers of the early Church. These hermits became teachers of this solitary life and gathered around them a community of ‘novices’. This, over time became the basis and foundations of the monastic communities we see across the world. All of them owe their tradition to St. Anthony and the many other Desert Fathers and Mothers (Abbas and Ammas) who went out from society to dedicate their life to communion with God without any distractions of life. The monastic call, therefore, is to the dedication to watch and pray.

The apostolic call, I would suggest, is to take on the Great Commission given by Christ at his ascension,

Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. (Matthew 28:19-20a)

Apostolic comes from the Greek word, apostolikos (from the roots: apo – away from and stello – to place, set in order). Apostolikos means ‘to send away’ or ‘to be sent’ and was used to describe those whom Jesus sent to witness to his Kingdom and Resurrection in the Gospels. These Apostles also became teachers and in Acts it is said that the Church,

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. (Acts 2:42)

It is useful, at this point, to draw our attention to a story in Mark’s gospel which illustrates this balance between being alone with God in contemplation and reflection and to be sent out to do his work in mission.

Starting at Mark 6:6b we read,

Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

They become ‘apostles’, sent out to build and spread the Kingdom. Then, after the death of John the Baptist, we meet the ‘apostles’ again.

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves.

Now they are being called to be alone, solitary, in a deserted place; they become ‘monastics’, alone with Jesus. But the story does not finish there.

Now many saw them going and recognised them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. When it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now very late; send them away so that they may go into the surrounding country and villages and buy something for themselves to eat.” But he answered them, “You give them something to eat.”

The disciples, wanting to be alone with Jesus see the need of the society in which they find themselves and they want to remain faithful to that monastic call so they ask to send the crowd away. Jesus, however, calls them to enter again into ministry and give them food. They don’t achieve that much needed ‘monastic’ time.

After the crowd are feed and Jesus reveals the Kingdom of God amongst them, he dismisses the disciples to a remote place and he himself goes to be alone with God.

The Divine offices in the monastic community are to remind the members to pray throughout the day. It is to call them back to their specific call to prayer and contemplation but, as we shall see later this year the community is not to disregard the call to mission and action. I am aware now that, St. Benedict has structured his Rule like that of a house; he begins with the foundations of character (humility and obedience), then comes the basis of prayer and contemplation, after which we shall explore community and relationships, then we look at the place of work.

Reflection

It seems that there is a need for both the monastic and the apostolic

Like all personal and specific calls from God to a particular ministry, we must be careful to hold them within the context of the wider call of all disciples. It is not right, although many preach this approach, to ‘specialise’ in a ministry to the detriment to the call to the basics of all disciples. For those of us who are more inclined to the prayerful contemplation, we must remind ourselves that to be transformed into the likeness of Christ is to be missional; sent people. For those of us who are more inclined to the evangelistic action, we must remind ourselves that to be transformed into the likeness of Christ is to be prayerful; alone with God.

Although I feel a strong call to the monastic life, I am also aware of the apostolic charge given to me by God. We are all to witness to the resurrection in our lives, to help all people that we meet to encounter the risen Lord. None are exempt from this work! The Kingdom of God is a collaboration between Christ and his bride, the Church, that is all of us who are baptised into his Body. Likewise non of us are exempt from the call to watch and pray with Christ and we return to the Merton quote above which identifies, helpfully, the need for contemplation, reflection, a deep listening prayer to be the basis of all missional activity; without it we will be building our own empires of sand.

Missional God, who calls us to solitary places to watch and pray with you, call us all to the life of contemplative action where, rooted in your grace, and will we may obediently follow you to feed the hungry, heal the sick and to make disciples. Where we have been lax in prayer and contemplation give us strength. Where we have been faithless in our witness to others may you give us courage and in all things may we have faith hope and love to serve you.

Come, Lord Jesus

Dead Man Walking

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We enter into Holy Week with the intention of re-living the events of Jesus’ final days before his cruel death on Good Friday.

We seek to experience, as much as we can, the various emotions he felt and to go through the sense of loss, abandonment, doubt, despair and pain that he endured.

We do these things whilst knowing and acknowledging that we are in a privileged position. We know the end of the story and it is hard to completely forget but it is also wrong to reject the memory of the resurrection and to not allow, in some way, for that to impact on how we see the days that proceeded it.

We enter, therefore, into a paradox; of wanting to participate, in some way, in his kenosis (emptying of self) in the way he did whilst, at the same time, trusting in the faithfulness of rescue and purpose that we profess to owning within us.

We want to proclaim,

Dead man walking.

and, although he will die, it is true, it is more true of us: We are ‘dead people walking’. We walk his journey to death each day of our lives but the joy and splendour of the Christian life is that we too can cast off that name and confidently stride into freedom shouting,

He is risen. He is alive!

He is risen. We are alive!

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May this season of Easter be, for you, a time of awakening to the reality of the gift of life offered to you.

So we are called not only to believe that Christ once rose from the dead, thereby proving that he was God; we are called to experience the Resurrection in our own lives by entering into this dynamic movement, by following Christ who lives in us. This life, this dynamism, is expressed by the power of love and of encounter: Christ lives in us if we love one another. And our love for one another means involvement in one another’s history. Christ lives in us and leads us, through mutual encounter and commitment, into a new future which we build together for one another. That future is called the Kingdom of God… The Resurrection is not a doctrine we try to prove or a problem we argue about: it is the life and action of Christ himself in us by his Holy Spirit. (Thomas Merton, He is Risen (Illinois: Argus Communications, 1975))

Chapter 15: the seasons during which Alleluia is chanted

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The Alleluia is to be sung with the psalms and responsories from Easter Sunday until Pentecost

Is it Hallelujah or Alleluia?

This chapter is very timely as we begin Holy Week. St. Benedict is discussing the use of the Alleluia chant within the prayers of the community and it might seem, to some of you, of little importance as to whether we are able to say ‘alleluia’ at some times and not at others. At worst this seems to be legislative for no reason and we should be able to say it at anytime. This is true but, for St. Benedict and the Western Church, there is a reason which can be helpful.

The question of the traditional liturgical customs is a litmus test within Christian circles; one which can become petty and pointless very quickly. For one tradition liturgical seasons, cycles, formulas and customs are of no use and arbitrary and we should be set free to respond to the Spirit in the way we see fit. For the other end of the spectrum liturgical guidelines are helpful as they lead us through a rhythm of the year which, when our feelings and natural instincts let us down we can be held within a framework by the grace of God. As with most things it comes down to intention and approach. The liturgical traditions of the church were set out for very important reasons and were there to help guide and protect the Church from every fresh wind of teaching. They are, however, like the Law of Moses; designed to be helpful but can easily suffocate and destroy if not treated properly.

In this day and age with electricity giving us extended working light, preserving food well beyond their natural seasons, we have little to no appreciation of seasons. This is particularly true of food, work and weather. We have done well in the developed world of being able to control our environment and it is possible to get what we want, when we want it and in the way that we want it. There is no sense of being restricted by external influences. When these restrictions impinge on our lives it frustrates us; when we can’t get the item of food we want, when we are unable to work when we want and when we are unable to travel to the places we want.

The world, however, relies on the season to give balance, to give rain when it’s needed and sun. Creation is a delicate system which has worked since well before humanity learnt how to manipulate it. The pre-industrial humanity were very sensitive to times and seasons and set their lives by the creation around them. They were in tune with it and were able to steward the world in a sustainable and natural way. In recent decades, with the effect that civilisation has had on the environment we are looking to reinstate this ‘eco’ agenda. The difficulty comes when it effects us, when it impacts our lives and it costs us. We don’t want our desires to be restrained; this doesn’t make us happy and surely that is what we want, to be happy!

Liturgical seasons are the same. They are there to force us to be sensitive to the ebb and flow of life. The book of Ecclesiastes names this,

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

There is a time to celebrate and there are times to be penitent. If we only followed what we felt and thought, with our limited understanding of our inner life, then we would be probed to fall heavily into personal preference. The liturgical structures defend us from that. They correct us. They give us a balanced diet, room for rest and work and appreciation for all spiritual weathers.

So, for the matter at hand; Hallelujah/Alleluia means ‘Praise the Lord.’ It was left untranslated by the early Christians and was understood to be one way to remain connected to the Jewish faith from which they came from. As the New Testament texts (the gospels and the letters) and it reached people with little to no understanding of the Hebrew language it was finally transliterated. Greek has no ‘h’ equivalent and so that letter was dropped creating Allelujah. It then evolved, when translated from the Greek into Latin to Alleluia.
Of course we can ‘Praise the Lord’ whenever we want to. In fact the Psalms tell us to do so! The Psalms also encourage us to do the opposite, to challenge and rail against God. There are times when we need to experience the times when we can’t ‘Praise the Lord’; we need to enter into times of experiencing the perceived absence of God to better appreciate our need for Him. For St. Benedict, ‘Alleluia’ is not used through Lent, a time when we are called to reflect on our human natures, the darkness that exists in our world and so, when Easter morning arrives, we drink in the Allleluias for we have thrusted for them for forty days.

But, as I said before, like most things, this custom can become suffocating and restrictive. That which meant to bring life and a roundness to our spiritual life, can easily become death to it. Jesus’ issues with the Pharisees was not that they were completely wrong, indeed he says of them,

For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 5:20)

The issue was that they were too cautious and protective. Issues of fasting, sabbath, healing that Jesus locked horns with them over, all of them came down to freedom within the framework. The rules and guidelines are there to enable us to be safe but free. If we cast them off then we are vulnerable to the whims of our temptable spirits.

Reflection

As a priest in a parish, I see it as my role to watch the edges of the Christian community, not as a patrol guard but as an advisor. To look out for those who get hurt in the wide open fields beyond God’s Kingdom and to bring them into safety. To remind people who stray beyond the boundaries the sustenance and blessings of that which they are leaving. Ultimately to bridge that fringe as a point of connection.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe the Church should have rigid edges, barriers and walls. I see the Church as centred rather than edged. This is best explained by a short parable:

The Kingdom of God is like a manager coming to check on one of his farms. The farmer who ran the property and kept the sheep welcomes the manager to the homestead and gives him the freedom to look around and to assess the health of the flock and take an inventory.

You are free to explore the acres of land and bring back your report of what you see and find.

The manager sets out to walk the grounds that sprawl into the horizon. He explores the land that is marked on the map as belonging to the farmer, he checks the quality of the grass and he counts sheep. Having not fallen asleep after such an exercise he makes random spot checks on the quality of the meat and the health of the animals.

What he views is very good and he is impressed with the farmers care and clearly profitable oversight of his treasures. The sheep are healthy, happy and safe, the grass and grounds are well kept and free of chemicals. After a long day he returns to the farmhouse to meet with the farmer.

It’s all very impressive.

The manager says,

The sheep are healthy and you have many ready for market. There is one thing, which troubles me… You don’t have any fences. Your land is just spread far and wide and there’s no visible demarcation to the neighbouring farmers’ lands. How do you keep all your sheep together and close by?

The farmer replies,

I dig very deep wells.

As an ordained person I am to be the sign of connection between the local expression of the Body of Christ and the national, global and historical Church. I am to keep us rooted in the faith, passed down from generation and generations; a faith which has been shaped by the wisdom and experience of the ages passed. This is not always a comfortable place or role to play but it is a cost. Yes, traditions must be tested but I deny the temptation to flee or reject the framework when it doesn’t please me or gets me what I want. Yes, I speak from a privileged position of being a white, male, middle class in a historically powerful, often oppressive, nation. So I turn to the church of the liberation movement who, as far as I can read, are strict observers of tradition and find the joy and freedom within the strength of the Apostolic faith based on the creeds and formularies of the Church.

Tradition acts as the deep wells, tried and tested in many contexts. They are not the water, but the channels through which we plunge to access the Living Water, Jesus Christ. I find it comforting to know that no matter how I’m feeling, how weak or broken I am I can go to the wells and find water. Our job, as the Church locally, is to carry people too far from the water to the wells and help them to drink.

Living Water, flow. Burst through the concrete tunnels we hide you in and protect ourselves from your flood with. For the places where we restrict unnecessarily, have mercy on us and reveal yourself.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 14: Night Office on saints’ days

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On Saints’ Days (feasts) and all Church festivals the Night Office should be ccarried out as on Sunday, the exceptions being that the psalms, antiphons and lessons are to be appropriate to these days.

Why remember the saints?

Coming from the reform tradition, i.e. protestant, this chapter may cause some of my brothers and sisters some confusion or a desire to pass over this short chapter as unimportant. Having grown up in the Roman Catholic Church, however, I have had to understand the importance of saints and, although I reject the need to pray to saints in time of need, I do see the benefit of identifying with them in the ‘communion of saints’. Spending a day meditating on the life of Christians who have died in the faith and, sometimes, for the faith is a great practice. It helps to inspire, challenge and encourage us in our own walk of transformation into the likeness of Christ.

On 24^th March 1980, Oscar Romero, bishop of El Salvador, was assassinated whilst presiding at the Eucharist in a small chapel. This year I was reminded of his life and witness via ‘Daily Prayer’ of the Northumbria Community which gives a brief biography of particular saints on their feast day. Romero is a particularly significant Christian figure for me. When I was a teenager in the Roman Catholic Church I went through Confirmation, a rite of passage for any Christian who wants to take personal ownership of the faith given to them through Baptism. Now is not the time to explore the development of the rite/sacrament of Confirmation but it just needs to be said that, in my church at the time, it was customary to take the rite of Confirmation when you were 16 years old.

During the Confirmation service in the Roman Catholic Church the candidate chooses a saint’s name to be given. This is an interesting practice and should create an opportunity for the Christian to rename themselves and to have a development in identity as they try to identify with a saint of the Church. Unfortunately for our church, and the poor Archbishop who presided over our Confirmation, as teenagers, we didn’t take this very seriously and our year had chosen the most obscure saints names, not because of the example they set or the affinity we felt with them but merely to try to confuse the Archbishop (I’m sorry to him!) And so, one after the other, the Archbishop renamed teenagers in Tunbridge Wells,

Bonaventure, Sexburga, Zynovij, Bairfhoin…

And after these came me,

Odo.

So technically, I could write that my full name is Edward James Odo Lunn. I don’t!

After my Confirmation, as a group, we started a new youth group for those post-Confirmation. Our parish priest at the time, one Fr. Michael Evans, a godly man to whom I have been inspired throughout my life, named this group the Romero Group. We were introduced to the name and it was met with blank faces from all. Fr. Michael then introduced us to the life and death of Oscar Romero…

If I had known this story before my Confirmation, then I’m sure I’d have had the great privilege of naming my desire to emulate the walk of disciples to Jesus of Oscar Romero. Ever since hearing his story, told so passionately by Fr. Michael on that Sunday evening, Romero has been, in my mind, an exemplar of what being a disciple is like.

So on 24^th March this year I dedicated the day to reflecting on Romero’s life and death. I changed my profile picture to a photograph of him and published some quotes and my reflections. You can read some of what Oscar Romero did and said here. The main thing I admire about Romero was the way he both remained steadfast in his faith and theology whilst adapting to the context in which he found himself. He was appointed to the Episcopal See of El Salvador because he was a conservative traditionalist and was deemed a ‘safe pair of hands’ in a time of great uncertainty and uprising in the lower classes. He remained, in my eyes, conservative and traditionalist but, after his Jesuit friend was killed, Romero’s ministry developed and he began standing with the poor and marginalised, to fight injustice. he did not betray his heritage or tradition, nor did he waiver in his theological standpoint but he grew into a deeper understanding of this.

I see the same characteristics in the new Pope Francis. It is the Catholic Church, based in the home of liberation theology, South America, which manages, in my opinion, to balance the love and commitment to Scripture and Tradition, and, at the same time, reveal the open love of God through Jesus Christ. There is no compromising at any point. It is a difficult and rare skill to be able to stand in that point of apparent paradox and contradiction that the power of God’s love is shown. Oscar Romero epitomises this ability to me and reveals Christ and it is this that I seek to grow into, with the help of God. To spend a day praying this prayer for help is a worthwhile and valuable thing to do.

But be warned: it is easy to read into the lives of the departed saints what we want to see. No doubt I have done this with Romero and with countless other saints I admire. It is a natural human instinct to make gods/idols in our own image; we’ve done it with Jesus, we can do it with one of his disciples. Take, St Aelred of Rievaulx, as an example. On his feast day (12^th January) there was a flurry of articles and reflections on the question of St. Aelred’s sexuality. His most famous work is ‘Spiritual Friendship’ which is an excellent book on community and relationships. In this book St. Aelred’s relationship with younger monks, depicted in a series of dialogues with them, seems to be very close and intimate. In St. Aelred’s monastery, of which he was the Abbot, he allowed/encouraged monks to hold hands and to meet each other with a holy kiss. All this could be seen as an open acceptance of homosexuality within the monastery. I do not deny that St. Aelred is indeed encouraging close intimacy between brothers (and sisters) and is akin to that of a romantic couple but I refute that this necessarily means that he condoned homesexual practice. I doubt very much if he would remain as an abbot if he had been so ‘progressive’.

I love St. Aelred and his ideas about deep commitment between people of any gender. I encourage that sort of relationship now, same sex or opposite sex, but the complication comes when we discuss the matter of the sexual act and to immediately suggest that one must contain the other is a fallacy.

What upset me on the feast day of St. Aelred was the ease with which people ‘out’ed a dead man. Whether he struggled with his sexuality or not; whether he always wanted to admit to his superiors his same sex attraction or not is not our job to say for him. That action has been dealt with between St. Aelred and his God. However much we feel we are doing St. Aelred a justice in proclaiming his perceived sexuality, it is not our place and nor the reason he should be remembered. St. Aelred, along with all the saints, should be remembered for their proclamation and witness to God. For St. Aelred and Romero this must be only what they said and did not what we hoped they said and did.

Reflection

To connect ourselves with past Christians from a bygone era seems a dangerous thing to do to us in a progressive generation whose obsession with our own ability to ‘improve’. We are in an age where all progress is good progress and we are growing in enlightenment. We are now more informed and more rational than any generation before us and we are building on the past in positive and constructive ways. Unfortunately, the same could be said of the people in Babel. We reached a climax of this thinking during the 20^th century when all our intelligence and rationality, all our philosophies and ethics culminated in the possibility of two World Wars and a death toll unimaginable before. Despite this fact, we still consider ourselves as evolving and improving.

For me, remembering saints, reading and learning the tradition holds and protects me from considering that I am in anyway unique or special without a great cloud of witnesses behind me. If I cut myself off from their example and their lives and deaths, I isolate myself. I leave myself open to the temptation and fallacy that I am an island and able to survive without God. I build a tower of my own to reach the heavens in an attempt to displace God from His throne and take charge of the whole world…

Many have tried. All have failed. Alleluia!

Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Draw me closer to yourself, through the crowd of saints who gather round your throne where they worship and adore you for your amazing sovereignty, grace and love.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Chapter 11: how Matins is to be celebrated on Sundays

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The brothers will arise earlier than usual on Sundays.

How do we live in community?

When we thought that St. Benedict had designed the longest prayer service possible, he describes the Matins for Sunday. This service adds nine extra lessons and some more sung responses and ends up being, what must be a feat of stamina but I’m sure, when done well, an impressive vigil of prayer and praise. Again, if it is to be cut short for whatever reason (and there really isn’t any good reason!) then one should cut the lessons and never the psalms. The psalms, as we have seen, are of such high importance to the prayer life of the monastery.

As we make our way through this more prosaic part of the Rule of St. Benedict it is increasingly hard to hear the deeper, spiritual realities at work. It all becomes rather tangible and material; what to do, what to say, rather than the aims and objectives of the Rule of life. We must draw on the previous chapters, I feel, to remind ourselves of what St. Benedict had in mind for the monks.

How do we live in community?

In our church at the moment we are following the Diocese of York’s 5 Marks of Growing Churches. I am due to preach on Sunday on the theme of ‘Partnership’. The passage I will be preaching from is Ephesians 4:1-7 which talks about how to live in communion with others,

I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace…

I’m reminded of the reality of living with others after the honeymoon period has worn off. We hope that our resolve to be loving, and gentle and humble and patient will remain in the years and decades which follow such declarations of love but the truth is it’s hard for us fickle human beings to sustain such emotion. Our love is paltry and transient; only God’s love is eternal. We look at the description of love in 1 Corinthians 13 and try to cut it down to manageable chunks; we say, ‘Well I’ll focus on being patient today and then will fulfil my commitment to love the other person’ as if that was love. Love is patient, kind, not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. If any of that is not present then it is not love. It is all these things or it is not love. We human’s can never sustain it… that’s the point.
I quote Dietrich Bonhoeffer to couples as they prepare for marriage and on their wedding day,

It is not your love that sustains the marriage, but from now on, the marriage that sustains your love. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “A Wedding Sermon from a Prison Cell, May 1943”, ‘Letters and Papers from Prison’ (New York: Touchstone, 1997))

This reality is true in all relationships and communities. St. Benedict, in his Rule established early on the necessary virtues needed to survive real community life, obedience, humility, perseverance… Well, the characteristics described by Paul in his letter to the Ephesians and how do we achieve these high standards?

God.

There is no other way. We can try and strive towards community in our own strength but I have witnessed and experienced this and real community is never achieved because… the human will, despite what popular culture wants to be true, does not endure. Humans are not trustworthy, we never have been! We show signs of pure beauty and potential but these are rarely sustained without a Divine miracle.

The prayers set down here in the Rule of St. Benedict do indeed seem hard and overwhelming but when we acknowledge that they are there to continually remind us of our need for God to transform us and give to us the virtues described above, to conquer our human will to chicken out of change and obedience to the Other, then it begins to be put into perspective. My will is often to take short cuts or to postpone the difficult conversations with God about my character, motives and actions. Enduring prayer without engaging in that will defeat us and we will, after time fall into humbled obedience to the gracious God who is able to redeem our broken lives and re-shape us into the likeness of Christ to send us out into the world to change others and ultimately bring about His Kingdom on earth.

Reflection

There is no escaping the essential part that prayer has in achieving all the spiritual character depicted in Christian literature, from the Apostles to today. This prayer, for St. Benedict, is not a short petition to the Almighty before work or as we fall asleep at night; it is a dedicated, often all conquering spiritual defeat at the hand of the Almighty. I read the demands that the Christian life makes on my life and my first instinct is to give up because it sounds impossible to achieve. Then I remember that it is with God’s help that I stand and walk in His way. It’s not about me achieving it but rather about me giving space and freedom for God to enter into my life and change the furniture. This seems such an easy activity to do and so many of us think that we’re doing it but we hold onto control and resist the complete surrender of our lives because, truth be known, we hate it. It is rare to find someone who has surrendered their life in this way. The people I have met who truly show this life are monastic brothers and sisters. I cannot escape the truth that there’s something in this way of life which gives discipleship a real transformative depth and the gospel becomes real and meaningful.

I can’t help but feel that the Christian Church, on the whole, is far from the life described and demanded in the pages of the New Testament. We have lowered the bar on so many aspects, like we do with our understanding of love in 1 Corinthians 13, that we settle for the easier option. Our expectations of one another and ourselves makes us pale reflections of true Christlikeness. Many people will think that I’m being too harsh on us but surely I am not alone in looking around at the state of the church and the world and see a large disparity to the life of the early disciples and now.

In this time of massive cultural change, where is the moral compass? Where is Godly wisdom found? Where is the Truth of the Divine Creator being spoken? During previous cultural shifts it was in the monastic life that the rhythm of tradition and spiritual heritage was preserved and sustained. Are we investing enough in this way of life? Where is the discipline, obedience to our tradition and heritage within our churches?

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road although I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death, I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.(Thomas Merton, ‘Thoughts in Solitude’ (New York:Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1999))

Come, Lord Jesus

Contemplating the Surprise

At the start of this year I began a practice of writing for twenty minutes a day to enable me to improve in the art form. Last night, as I sat down to begin this disciplined work I could think of a hundred and one different things I could be doing; the major one was sleeping. The temptation to miss a day remains a constant issue but the voices are getting quieter. They take the form, usually, of a simple question,

What harm will it do if you miss just one day?

Then a suggestion,

It’s not like you have anything particular to write…

It is that sentence which drives me to my desk, take up my pen and get to work. It’s the fact I don’t have any ideas to write or some pre-conceived concepts to wrestle out and process which inspires me to begin. You see, I have been involved in the arts for long enough to know what really makes us participate in creativity is the possibility to experience Surprise.

Surprise is the gold creatives and artists look for. It’s those moments when, despite having a thought or inspiration, however much the process is structured or one plans the product prior to the start of the work, an artist surprises themselves with the creation. In that moment there’s an awareness that we humans may not be alone in the process. We could break that particular encounter with surprise down into constituent parts like the ‘enlightened’ people we are but I know that such an exercise, stemming from 17th century science, has killed the arts. The research into creativity has led us no closer to a tangible explanation of that experience of ‘inspiration’.

All artists are seeking that surprise because it is a divine moment; a meeting with a force unnameable, holy. It is un-manufacturable and many have tried to force it only to be left high and dry. The reason it can’t be rushed or made to happen is because if you’re focussing on creating a surprise it will no longer be a surprise.

So the artist sits or stands or moves to the material and attempts, not necessarily to ‘empty themselves’ completely but to empty enough to focus on the process of the creative act. It is an emptying enough to create a void into which the creative force can fill or take over. What a mystery the creative process is! How it is done, etc. no one can fully explain. Why sometimes it ‘works’ and other times one is left wanting, who can say?

The artist, unique from other creative people, is the one who returns to the material as a matter of discipline, to rick being disappointed for the nth number of times. Chuck Close wrote this,

The advice I like to give young artists, or really anybody who’ll listen to me, is not to wait around for inspiration. Inspiration is for amateurs; the rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself.

This truth reminds me of the work of monks or nuns at prayer; they don’t wait around for an alignment of the stars to tell them when to pray, they turn up and start. They have more encounters with the Divine not because they are better at discerning or predicting the movements of God but because they turn up more often. They know how impossible it is to forecast the Almighty but He is always experienced Here and Now and never There and Then. When something is so ungraspable one has to give oneself more opportunities to catch it and so one enters the arena and waits but here’s the real secret; it’s not just a sitting and waiting but, while waiting, one gets to work and, after a time… surprise.

Chapter 7: humility

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…Without doubt, we should understand that climbing as showing us that we go up by humbling ourselves and down by praising ourselves.

What is humility?

Here we are. After 6 chapters introducing authority, obedience and living with others, St. Benedict dedicates a whole chapter to humility. Reading this chapter feels like it’s a summary of all that has been said before; he even repeats ideas,

The first step of humility is taken when a man obeys all of God’s commandments (c.f. The Prologue)

The third step of humility is attained when a man, from love of God, obediently submits to a superior in imitation of the Lord (c.f. Chapter 1)

The eighth step of humility is reached when a monk only does that which the common rule of the monastery or the example of his elders demands (c.f. Chapter 1 and Chapter 2)

The ninth step of humility is achieved when a monk, practicing silence, only speaks when asked a question… The tenth step of humility is reached when a man restrains himself from laughter and frivolity (c.f. Chapter 5)

I find myself reflecting on humility each week as I read the Rule of St. Benedict. I discover I am caught between a balking at an emotional/spiritual form of self mutilation and a deep desire to explore unchartered territory of anonymity. When I become aware of my mental gymnastics over this issue I am prompted to remind myself of what ‘humility’ is and is not.

Humility is rooted in the Latin humus, meaning “ground”. I find it helpful (rightly or wrongly) to rename it ‘grounded’. To be humble is not to become a doormat with no desire to establish an identity but rather a true and frank acknowledgement to your standing in the world. Once we begin to understand that to know who you truly are we can move away from our natural desire to reject St. Benedict’s twelve steps to humility. This is not to say that humility should not carry some fear and discomfort for us humans, naturally bent towards pride and selfish individualism of many forms. The process to humility is about stripping off false identities and claiming rightful ones, spiritual ones.

There are thoughts which spring to mind as I talk about natural desires and identity. The first is a thought picked up from Gregory Boyd in his book ‘God of the Possible’. He suggests,

Genes, parenting, and spiritual forces do condition who we are. But for believers whose spirits have been regenerated by the Holy Spirit these conditioning factors cannot determine who we are unless we choose to allow them to do so. (Gregory Boyd, God of the Possible: a biblical introduction to the open view of God (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2000))

Boyd is saying that we are conditioned by biological and experiential factors to do and be certain things but none of these factors should control or oppress us. By the Holy Spirit (and that is the emphasis) we are set free from conditioning factors to be transformed, strengthened to follow the way of Christ. We should no longer claim, ‘I can’t do that. It’s not how I was made.’ God knows of what you are made and that is why He sent His Holy Spirit to help us.

The second thought comes from reading Leonardo and Clodivus Boff’s book ‘Introducing Liberation Theology’. There’s a quote which resonated with the reflections I’ve been having whilst reading this chapter.

The gospel is not aimed chiefly at “modern” men and women with their critical spirit, but first and foremost at “nonpersons,” those whose basic dignity and rights are denied them. (Leonardo Boff and Clodivus Boff, Introducing Liberation Theology (Tunbridge Wells: Burns & Oates, 1987) p.8)

I do not want to belittle or ignore the main aim of the Boffs’ statement, that of the extreme poor in our world, but I was drawn to the term “nonpersons”. This phrase reminds me of John Zizioulas’ work on Christian anthropology particularly an excellent article entitled ‘Human Capacity and Human Incapacity: A Theological Exploration of Personhood’. Zizioulas articulates a distinction between humans and persons; one is a biological phenomenon the other is a metaphysical reality achieved through communion with God. It is through this divine communion, in baptism, Eucharist and the Body of Christ (the Church) that one transforms from ‘human’ to ‘person’.

I want to suggest that the gospel is for “modern” men and women precisely because they too are “nonpersons”, the difference is that they deny personhood themselves rather than having them denied by others. The path St. Benedict sets out in this chapter on humility is a process for all people to develop from human to person through the task of community.

Ultimately, St. Benedict’s process to spiritual growth and deeper communion with God is set out at the beginning of the Rule as he describes the ideal monks, the Cenobites, ‘who live in a monastery waging their war under a rule and an abbot’. To live a life of discipleship in the Kingdom of God one must be obedient to a community and an abbot. Humility will arrive after one has journeyed the difficult and treacherous road through community.

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Humbling Ourselves

I would love to explore each rung of St. Benedict’s ladder to humility but I am both daunted by such a task and ill-equipped. I do want to spend a few moments, however, reflecting on St. Benedict’s analogy.

I was struck by St. Benedict’s use of direction in his depiction of the ladder to humility. He suggests we climb to the ‘highest peak of humility’ which is a journey away from the ground and up to heaven. The model I would tend to consider is the depiction of Christ’s humility in Philippians 2:3-11

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death – even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Christ humbled himself and came down. In the gospels Christ describes humility as putting yourself lower and, in so doing, paradoxically being raised through exaltation by God. Humility, in my mind has always been a descent into that ‘humus’/grounding.

This leads me to another reflection I’ve had about humility; The analogy depicts hard work and intentionality about achieving humility. There are set, pragmatic steps to take to arrive at this state of humility. This unsettles me. I am not suggesting that St. Benedict is wrong or misguided in his teaching but I am rather challenged in my pre-conceived attitude to humility.

My question is, ‘can I humble myself?’ What I mean by this is, is the process of humbling an act we do or an act that is done to us by others and God? The passage from Philippians clearly says Jesus ‘humbled himself’ but is that possible because He is the Son of God or is it an invitation that we should od the same. The difference between humbling yourself and being humbled may seem pedantic and semantic but I think, in relation to St. Benedict’s call to climb the ladder to humility, it is important to ensure where our focus is. Are we to look at humbling ourselves or rather look at living in community and, in doing this discovering we are humbled?

I would want to suggest that humility is achieved by living out the life of obedience in a community, committing to the actions of considering others before yourself, seeking the common good for those to whom you have committed higher than selfish ambition and vain conceit; in short, to love, truly and in imitation of Christ. If you do this then you will find yourself humbled. These steps to humility by St. Benedict are like the Beatitudes in Matthew’s gospel,

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

We read these wrong if we feel we need to mourn, to be meek, to be peacemakers, etc. in order to be blessed. Our focus is wrong if we think that the point of these statements is to show us how to be blessed, as if they are some self-help programme. These are statements of truth not guidance as to how to live your life. These are more about virtues than about practical steps to self improvement. It’s the paradox and challenge of the life of faith in Jesus Christ; you achieve the goal (salvation, arrival into heaven, enlightenment) by not focussing on achieving that goal.
Community is the same,

Christian brotherhood is not an ideal which we must realize; it is a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (London: SCM Press, 1954) p15-16)

Organic community is not a product, not an end result. Organic community – belonging – is a process, a conversation… It is not the product of community that we are looking for. It is the process of belonging that we long for. (Joseph R. Myers, Organic Community: Creating a Place Where People Naturally Connect (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2007) p125)

Reflection

Looking at community within the parish context becomes complicated when you’re aim and focus is building community, as if it were a product or goal to achieve. Community is the process of loving others; the focus is on doing the process rather than achieving the product. It’s like art: an artist may have an idea of what the piece may look like or express but whilst working on it they must cast that dream to one side and engage fully in the task of creating. Then the art is more beautiful and surprising, even to the artist themselves.

What St. Benedict is placing before us is a series of activities to do, not to achieve humility in ourselves but to encourage the growth of community around us and in that rich soil the seed of humility is grown, hidden even from our own eyes until, at the end, when the Reaper comes for the harvest we will find, with Him, that we have born good fruit.

Transformer of humans, Come by Your Holy Spirit and guide me in the way of love and obedience. That, in doing this I will be rightfully humbled even to death and thus be exalted by my Heavenly Father, for His glory and His Kingdom.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Fleeing to No-Man’s Land

bf_logo_brown I have had the privilege of being welcomed into a community over the last year which has had an ongoing and deeply transformative impact on me and my vocation as an ordained priest. The community are mainly in their twenties and would, at a cursory glance, be classified as ‘arty’ intellectual types, although this is not entirely true; not that they are not either of those things but that which unites this group isn’t those two general categories. It is only in the last month or so that I have begun to grasp the ‘charism’, the ‘je ne sais qua’, of Burning Fences.

I have come to realise that this gathering on a Wednesday night is a place between. What I mean by that is, it is a space which exists in no-man’s land between many human cultures, traditions, institutions and philosophies. Many are ‘de-churched’, meaning they have opted out of the church system. This does not automatically mean they have no faith in Jesus, but they are definite in their questions of institutional religion. Others are ‘de-society-ed’, meaning they have opted out of social institutions including politics, economic models and/or cultural pressures.

Whilst some are exiting church due to lack of a tangible truth to the statements trotted off each week, others are dismissive of social powers for the same reason. Capitalism: failed. Democracy: broken. Hierarchy: oppressive. Education system: stifling. In our community these things, at best, do nothing for us, at worst are an abuse. Church has hurt many of us and society has not done much better. We are all ‘de-something’, ‘post-something else’ and ‘anti-the other’ but…

We find joy.

a3257979419_10 Before I stumbled through the doors one cold December night, this community had been meeting, singing and telling stories for a year or more. They had produced a CD of songs which they had developed entitled ‘Of Anthem and Ashes’. The images that were resonating with them then and remain reverberating through our times together are phoenix like resurrections; songs sung in the rubble, new plants breaking through concrete. These images have always resonated with me and it’s why I know I am a ‘fence burner’.

What’s unique, in my experience, with Burning Fences is we are not just angry rebels without a cause. I felt, at first, our position was always, first and foremost, against but now I appreciate that our primary position is for; it’s for joy, hope, faith, creative and transformative actions of love. We are for justice. We are for freedom. We are for foolishness. We stand up for singing and fairytales and we stand proclaiming the truth that we find in them; a truth higher than the ones incarcerated in creedal dogmas and policies from committees.

What unites us is not the borders we’ve crossed to get to Burning Fences, its the central tenants which have drawn us closer. It is not that we are all ‘de-churched’ or ‘post-capitalism’ or ‘anti-establishment’ it’s that we are dreamers singing songs from ages past with the fresh melody of our eternal youth.

We struggle to define ourselves, not because we cannot tell you what we do or why we do it (although we may amble around some wording) it’s because we don’t believe in definitions. Definitions limit and control; they create an object that is to be studied and understood. We, I think, want to rather express. Expressions manifest and present; they allow the subject to be encountered, however fleetingly. Groups and communities always get to a point where they organize. It’s at this point where a small death occurs. That which was new, organic, growing, evolving becomes marked and measured. It’s a necessary part of all groups some would say, but, I wonder, is it as necessary as we think?

Organization contains mechanistic tendencies, structures which are intentionally built to ensure all parties are protected and held. Organization does an important job of mediating between subjectivity of members and individuals can devolve responsibilities to the processes and structures put in place. The alternative, I want to tentatively suggest, is the organism.

Organisms are natural and, in some respects, self-evolving and responsive to environment. Organisms exist in constant fragility and transient ways and yet can endure much. The church has traditionally been associated with organic images; a body, a family, a vine, a tree. Ferdinand Tönnies articulates a possible contrast between these two models which he describes as ‘organic communities’ and ‘associative societies’,

…one can distinguish between ideal types of organic and associative social structures. A person is born into an organic social structure, or grows into it; by contrast, a person freely joins an associative social structure. The former is a ‘living organism’ whose parts depend on the whole organism and are determined by it; the latter is ‘a mechanical aggregate and artifact’ composed of individual parts. The former is thus enduring, the latter transient. In short, organic social structures are communities of being, while associative social structures are alliances for a specific purpose. (Miroslav Volf, ‘After Our Likeness: The Church as the Image of the Trinity’ (Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1998) p. 179)

concrete2 The times when Church is most frustrating, for me, is in the ‘necessary organization’. What irks me is the lack of convincing Biblical precedent. The Temple system failed and yet here we are in the 21st century rebuilding it. I get it, organic is messy and uncontrollable, unpredictable but it’s how the world functions. We human beings are devastating when we control and tinker with the organic creation. We’ve tried to organize the world and what we discover is we’re trapped in boxes which do not fit nor encourage us to flourish in the ways in which we should.

Take growth as one example:

Organizations grow but only when there is intentional distribution of resources in that area. Resources are limited and so constant supervision and analysis is required in order to maintain a healthy growth and balance with the repercussions growth brings (increase need for supporting the numbers and the work.) Growth is a task which is done. The temptation is also to continue to grow; to grow beyond the organisation’s means. When is the right time to stop growing? There is no reason to stop.

Organisms grow naturally; plants, animals, people. We do not need constant monitoring and an understanding of how it works we just do it. Yes, in order to remain alive we need protection from certain things but that’s not changing growth that just ensure an environment within which to grow. The purpose and identity of organisms can change and adapt, it’s inherent within the classification. It will be what it will be. Growth is not an intentional task its a natural process. Once it has reached a maturity the growth will inevitably slow down and settle into an identity (which still has freedom to develop) but even mature organisms continue to grow cells and reproduce.

Death is indeed part of the natural cycle of things but, like organisms there’s a continuity of energy from one thing to another and there is reproduction to ensure species continues. With the Christian tradition and narrative death is not to be feared. Despite us all passing through death, at the end we will all rise and live in resurrection glory (but that’s for another time.) plant-growing-through-crack-in-concrete

Burning Fences is an organism. It is one that understands itself as an evolving entity but not vacuuous of identity. Growth is occurring in different ways without us spending resources and monitoring to ensure that it continues because growth is a by-product of being. We have flirted over the last few months with basic organization but I am increasingly convinced that what this ‘Fresh Expression’ is doing, along with many others, is challenging the organizational model of church and society and telling the story of the church as organic. We are not the concrete instituition holding Man together and discovering we’re suffocating him instead. We are the plant life that persists in growing between the rubble of those falling idols.

As an ordained priest I do not want to be a manager. I do not want to be a systems analyst. I want to be one part of a network, a rhizome, of organic life that is fertile, naturally beautiful and expressing newness in the face of decay. I want to welcome the tired, weary, breathless, thirsty people as they run from the crumbling world into no-man’s land and host the party of endurance beyond death and decay. To feed them with nourishing bread and breathe new life into them. I want to tell the story of the world through the lens of a Creator who redeems and endures; coming and leading a people into the wilderness to find miraculous bread falling from the sky.

Burn those fences. Break down the walls and flock to the well where the water never dries up and to a table where the bread falls from heaven.