Soon enough we’ll hear somebody say, “Christ is Risen!” and we will respond, “The Lord is Risen Indeed!” This happens each Easter and has for centuries. But this Easter will be unlike any in modern memory. This Easter an unwanted guest, COVID-19, has joined us.
With this virus comes a whole raft of fears and health measures, none of which seem likely to enhance our experience of the Risen Lord.
At the same time, COVID-19 certainly has no power over Jesus, over resurrection. Things on the surface may be very different, but somewhere deep, Easter will be Easter.
Every crisis is an opportunity, so you never want to waste a crisis. COVID-19 is a crisis. So is Easter. During Holy Week we remember a series of terrible events in which Jesus is betrayed by those closest to him, abandoned, even denied by those who love him best. Eventually he is not just killed but killed in the most horrible way that human minds could devise. Our annual keeping of Holy Week and Easter is, in part, a way for us not to waste a crisis. Perhaps in the spirit of Easter we can find a way not to waste the crisis of COVID-19.
It is understandable that many of us wish that everything would just go back to normal… the way it used to be… For those of us who live with a fair amount of comfort and privilege, this is a reasonable desire. Our lives were better, and we’d like that back. But for those who were living in miserable conditions, in starvation, in desperate poverty, in despair, there can’t be the same desire for things to go back to normal.
The truth is that “normal” seems to include a great deal of injustice. “Normal” can include a staggering degree of greed and hoarding, while tolerating a shameful degree of suffering. “Normal” appears to assume that it is OK to use vast amounts of resources for the comfort and pleasure of some while leaving others with nothing and severely degrading the planet for those who come after us. Jesus calls us to live in love with our brothers and sisters, but honestly, that is not “normal”.
The message of Easter does not call us to return to normal, to the way things were before the crucifixion. Easter calls us to be transformed, to be made new. Jesus is transformed by death and resurrection so that the disciples have a hard time recognizing him. We are not, most of us, called to endure what Jesus endured. But we are called to be transformed by this Easter event.
I find myself thinking that COVID-19, which has brought our modern world to its knees, is offering an opportunity for transformation as well. This will not be easy or fun, just as
the events of Holy Week are not easy or fun. But this present moment in time is challenging us to consider what is truly important. That is very different from what we find appealing or desirable. This present moment reminds us that our mighty engines of commerce have very little power over something as tiny as a virus. In this moment can we learn something about humility and compassion?
This virus will have its time and then it will pass. What it will leave in its wake we do not yet know. But it is a crisis, and with God’s help, this crisis can transform us and our society to be more just and loving. This will be a truly blessed Easter.
Yesterday, Ash Wednesday, was the official start of the Season of Lent. Lent and Advent have a similar function in the calendar – they both provide a season of contemplation and reflection leading up to the defining events of Christian life, the birth of Jesus and the resurrection of Jesus.
By tradition, there are two primary intentions for Lent. In the first half we are called to reflect and repent. In the second, our focus is directed to Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem – to crucifixion… and resurrection.
It is a somber, penitential season. It goes against our modern culture. Of course, standing apart from culture is just where we should want to be as followers of Jesus.
I want to start by considering what the Rule of Benedict says about Lent:
The life of a monk (for the purposes of this sermon we are all monks…) ought to be a continuous Lent. Since few, however, have the strength for this, we urge the entire community during these days of Lent to keep its manner of life most pure and to wash away in this holy season the negligences of other times. This we can do in a fitting manner by refusing to indulge evil habits and by devoting ourselves to prayer with tears, to reading, to compunction of heart and self-denial.
During these days, therefore, we will add to the usual measure of our service something by way of private prayer and abstinence from food or drink, so that each of us will have something above the assigned measure to offer God of his own will with the joy of the Holy Spirit.
In other words, let each one deny himself some food, drink, sleep, needless talking and idle jesting, and look forward to Holy Easter with joy and spiritual longing – Everyone should, however, make known to the abbot what he intends to do, since it ought to be done with the abbot’s prayer and approval. Whatever is undertaken without permission of the spiritual father will be reckoned as presumption and vainglory, not deserving a reward. Therefore, everything must be done with the abbot’s approval.
When I was in 5th grade (about 10 years old), a Roman Catholic classmate of mine announced at about this time of the year that she was giving up coffee for Lent. It was rather ingenious. She was required to report something she was giving up to the priest. And since she did not, in fact, drink coffee, she could meet the requirement with no particular inconvenience. When you are ten years old, it seems like a pretty good answer…
She even met the spirit of Benedict’s caution. She did not have an abbot to tell, but she was telling the appropriate spiritual authority – her priest. What I have never known is the outcome – I will forever wonder what the priest may have said to her in response.
St Benedict, and my 5th grade classmate, have something to tell us about what we do for Lent – in some way they are telling us the same thing… We have developed, in our tradition, the belief that to be really effective, a spiritual practice has to be heroic, perhaps even draconian.
What that intelligent 5th grader was engaging in was a practice of minimal, rather than maximal displacement. OK – her particular plan may have been sub-minimal… it asked absolutely nothing of her… but erring on the side of minimal may be of more spiritual benefit than we think.
Benedict’s counsel guides us in the same direction. “Let each deny him or her-self some food, drink, etc.” I’m not in 5th grade and I do drink coffee. If I were to implement my classmate’s plan in accordance with the rule of Benedict, I might be looking to give up one cup of coffee a day, or to not drink coffee one day of the week… to give up some, not all.
Benedict is clear in purpose: We will add something by way of private prayer and take away something from food or drink, so that we will have something additional to offer God.
A heroic form of fasting too easily becomes a spiritual destination rather than a spiritual
tool. If I give up chocolate for Lent, then chocolate, or at least that empty space where chocolate used to be, becomes the focus of my Lenten practice. What strange kind of offering is that?
I love Benedict’s particularly moderate approach. He has a list: food, sleep, needless talking and idle jesting. Only talking and jesting get qualifiers, but you don’t need to know a great deal about St Benedict to know that he never encourages anybody to go entirely without food or sleep. As we say, we’re Benedictines, not Franciscans… Benedict doesn’t need to qualify those because we know the rule still calls us to meals and to bed each day. Needless talk and idle jesting imply that there is still room for purposeful talk and perhaps even some jesting – as long as it’s not idle…
The danger lies in presumption and vainglory. They are spiritually deadly. Presumption puts me, myself, before God. A particularly severe observance of Lent encourages me to presume that I can, or have, achieved something important… something especially pleasing to God. That is vainglory – empty boasting. The Kingdom of God is a Kingdom of justice and love… Heroic deprivation does not advance either.
We need to step into Lent, not leap into it, making little adjustments in order to free ourselves from worldly attachments. Massive dislocations and heroic deprivations just change the nature of our enslavement. We substitute a positive attachment – I need another cup of coffee… for a negative attachment – I will not drink coffee at all under any circumstances… no matter how much I’d love a cup of coffee… We’re just as attached, just to the absence rather than the presence.
On Ash Wednesday we are reminded that we are dust, and to dust we will return. This is a perspective that allows little space for presumption and vainglory. There is no point in attachment, in storing up the treasures of this earth. There is no value in a big and grand show of piety. I am still just dust.
We are to love one another as God loves us. The less preoccupied I am with indulging and comforting myself, the more able I am to love others and to love God. And just to be clear, loving God is loving others.
Repentance, our focus in this beginning of Lent, is worth some exploration. In English, and in languages that have their toes resting on Latin, the notion of repentance includes sorrow and regret. Our toughest prisons in the US are called Penitentiaries. Inmates are meant to contemplate their wickedness, repent, and amend their lives.
In reality, these institutions do not help people amend their lives but rather turn life into
punishment. A place where we are confronted daily with our horrible sinfulness does not reconcile with the boundless love and forgiveness of God. Such a place denies the grace that Jesus bestows on us. Jesus does not want to lock us up. Jesus wants to set us free.
What our culture believes about penitence may not be spiritually healthy at all. So, let’s consider what Jesus may have meant.
Jesus, contrary to some popular beliefs, didn’t speak Latin. He didn’t speak English either. As for Jesus speaking Afrikaans, who can say. But when Jesus spoke of repentance, he most likely used the word “metanoia” – a Greek word that means something like turning around or changing direction. It is a thoughtful and reflective process. In our tradition it is quite literally the turning from following my own heart to following Jesus.
Repentance isn’t about feeling bad. It’s about giving our selves over to the uninhibited and seemingly reckless love that is God. The more I allow myself to live into God’s love, the more I am able to love God’s children and all of God’s wonderful creation. That is the work of repentance… the work of Lent… the giving up of my carefully guarded and metered love for the unbound generosity of God’s love.
Do I get there all at once? Do I even get there in the span of my life? Probably not. And that’s OK. Jesus calls us to follow, not to arrive.
As I do the work of reflection that Lent calls for it will surely be distressing. I fall short – a lot… I’d love to say that I am a pure and holy monk with never an impure or evil thought, let alone deed. And if you believe that then, as we say in the US, I’ve got a bridge I’ll sell you…
If it starts to feel hopeless – then I will try to remember to remind myself that I’m in a process. I’m following Jesus as best I can. And I can take great comfort in the lives of those early followers – Thomas who was filled with doubt… Peter who denied any knowledge of Jesus at all… Judas who betrayed Jesus… The whole drowsy bunch who couldn’t stay awake with Jesus in Gethsemane. I fit right in. Thankfully Jesus calls us as we are to follow.
Repentance, the turning of my life to follow Jesus, is work that I can do at each step of the journey. And if I get a step wrong, that is OK. It’s just another opportunity to repent – to turn and change direction.
If we were more like our Orthodox brothers and sisters, we would encounter the Beatitudes, those readings that begin with “blessed are those who…”, almost as often as we encounter the Lord’s Prayers. They consider it one of the most essential elements in the formation of Christian life. Almost everything you need to know about following Jesus is contained in this small section of the Bible.
So, what might the beatitudes be saying to us in this day? What have others found in
these marvelous sayings?
Well – to be honest – some of what folks find is disturbing. To me, the most disturbing is the notion that the Beatitudes tell us what awaits us in heaven… so we can just be patient until we get there. The poor, the downtrodden, the victims of injustice… all will be made right in God’s Kingdom. In fact, the worse you have it here, the better you’ll have it there… Or as we say in the US – you’ll get pie in the sky when you die…
It’s not exactly wrong. We look forward to God’s Kingdom just as Isaiah did – a land where justice flows like a mighty river and covers the whole earth. But to suggest that Jesus is promoting the notion of suffering now for some far-off reward misses the entire message of the Gospel. It certainly misunderstands the Beatitudes.
Part of the difficulty is we don’t encounter the Beatitudes, or for that matter any scripture, in its original language. In South Africa, I believe, people are more aware of the limitations of translation. In the US, we tend to assume that translation means turning something “foreign” into English. Here I think there is a richer understanding that translation is trying to say in one language something that is conceived in a different language.
It sounds like it shouldn’t be that hard, but languages are more than just words. They are ways of thinking.
So, we encounter the Beatitudes in English today, but they were conceived in Mathew’s Gospel in Greek. But Jesus most likely spoke them in Aramaic. What may have gotten lost along the way? We really can’t know, except that something will have gotten lost.
At the same time, some things will have crept in – the Pie in the Sky notion for example. What we can do now is try to discern what the Spirit is saying to us – we can’t really know what Jesus may have said two millennia ago to a crowd gathered on a hill near Galilee. Nonetheless, I think we can trust our Orthodox friends – this is an important encounter. After all – Jesus speaks.
The Beatitudes, as we receive them, are structured in a very particular way. Blessed is X, because Y. This is not something new that Jesus dreamed up. The Wisdom literature in our tradition has plenty of “beatitudes”. The Psalms, for example, include well-loved beatitudes such as “Blessed is the one who has not sat in the seat of the scornful” and “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”
Beatitudes have a particular purpose. They don’t tell us to do something. There is no imperative or command. Rather they tell us who we are.
The Beatitudes draw their structure from ancient Hebrew which does not confine itself to orderly events – one after another. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven” could also be rendered “blessed are you pursuing righteousness – for you are the Kingdom of God.”
That is true in all the Beatitudes – the meek are already children of God and, therefore, inheritors. Those who have pure hearts already see God. This is not pie in the sky when we die… this is pie today… right now.
Another subtle point is that in these statements, Jesus is not addressing individuals; Jesus is addressing the whole gathered assembly. He doesn’t say those among you who are poor will inherit the earth.
Rather Jesus addresses a collective. And this makes sense if you remember that Jesus was
interested in community, in collective. Following Jesus is not something we are meant to do on our own. It is something are called to do in a group – which is why we are here now, in a group, in the great congregation.
The group includes the attributes Jesus describes – the poor, the sorrowful, those who hunger for justice, those who make peace. We are the mystical body of Jesus – one body. So, when some in our group includes these attributes, then we all do. We make peace not on our own, but as members of the body of Jesus. We do not mourn alone, but in the collective.
This is, to me, a great relief. I’d like to think that I am really good at hungering and thirsting for justice. But, to be honest, sometimes I hunger and thirst for comfort and privilege. But it’s not my hunger… it’s our hunger.
I would like to be able to proclaim with a straight face that I am pure in heart… I’m a monk after all! But much of the time what is in my heart is anything but pure – or perhaps it is pure… pure evil. If I have to be pure in heart before I can see God, then we better put on some coffee – it’s going to be a long wait… But this is forcing a new understanding of what it means to be pure of heart onto an old Beatitude. In Jewish thinking at the time, being “pure” of heart meant having a heart that was purified of other gods. They did live in a richly polytheistic time.
We, on the other hand, don’t live in an age and culture filled with many gods… or do we? What gods compete for space in my heart? The god of wealth, the god of safety, the god of power, the god of celebrity, the god of comfort. And perhaps the lesser gods of cell phones and Netflix… There are many gods who take up space in our hearts. Purifying our hearts begins with acknowledging them.
So, if the Beatitudes are not injunctions… be a peace maker, be mournful, be a worker for justice, but observations, then what do we do with them? How do we live them?
To say that these are descriptions of qualities that Jesus’ followers had is hard to swallow. He looks at a crowd and says blessed are the meek. But I really doubt he is describing very many in the crowd. Blessed are the poor in spirit. I’d like to think the crowd was more likely to be rich in spirit – they were after all in Jesus’ presence.
Here again, a little liberation from English might be helpful. English is a language that
loves binary things: good or bad, rich or poor, up or down, on or off. That extends nicely into the world of computers – where 0 or 1 are the only options. God is not binary. English loves things to be linear: this happened before that, or this happened because of that. God, who is and was and is to come, is not linear.
We can seek peace and pursue it in a very imperfect, that is to say human, way. Success and failure are binary – not Godly. Our imperfection is not failure.
I can seek to purify my heart and get it right… and get it wrong. Seeking is more important than succeeding.
John Wesley, a great hero of mine, spent a fair amount of time thinking about sanctified living. In his time there was still a hot debate about salvation either through grace alone or through good works. Wesley sort of dismissed the debate. Salvation is. We are recipients of it just as the meek are inheritors of the earth. Sanctified living was the response to God’s grace. Sanctified living, for Wesley, was the joyful outpouring of a grateful heart, not the means of purchasing grace.
The Beatitudes tell us who we are. We are the hungry for justice. We are the mournful. We are the merciful. Sure – we fall short some of the time. We are comforted. We see God. We inherit the earth. And we do this, and we did this, and we will do this. Even as we pursue these things, in some Godly way they are already accomplished.
Blessed are we who follow Jesus, for our joy will overflow from grateful hearts.
Here we are – coming to the end of the Christmas story – the Kings, who had so much farther than everyone else to travel, have finally arrived. As a child I used to wonder, if these “wise men” were so wise, why didn’t they start earlier…
As is our monastery custom, the kings have taken their place alongside shepherds and
various animals looking at the holy family at the creche. And we can feel a vague sense of Anglican superiority because our kings have made the journey and arrived on the correct day: Epiphany.
Of course we can only feel vaguely superior for a few moments, because if we stop to think about it, we have to realize that the kings, or whatever they may have been, never arrive at that stable and never take their place alongside those shepherds and the sweet little animals.
The problem with the Christmas Story is that there is not one story, but two. In our minds they quite easily mush together. But when we trust our memories, some important details get dropped. Most of what we know as “the Christmas story” comes to us from Luke. Luke has shepherds. His telling of the story is particularly good for a very merry Christmas.
But this Feast of the Epiphany, this arrival of the Magi, directs us to Matthew – the “other” Christmas story. Luke gives us the warm and fuzzies; Matthew turns up the dark.
Matthew spares us lots of detail… Before their marriage, Mary is found to be pregnant, so Joseph is going to quietly end the engagement. But an angel, the first character to speak, gives Joseph the full story. And so, Joseph takes Mary to his home and Jesus is born – at home. No muss, no fuss, no long journey, no stable… I haven’t shortened it much because there isn’t much to shorten… It’s hard to imagine the Hallmark Holiday Special built on Mathew…
That brings us up to today’s feast – wise men, or magi, or astrologers, or kings appear in Jerusalem from “the east” – wherever that may be… They were following a star, but they somehow seem to have lost sight of it. They have but one seemingly innocent question: “Where is the infant king of the Jews?”
Ooops. In the paranoid stew that was Jerusalem at that time, this is an incendiary question.
Herod, King of the Paranoid, gets wind of it and, like any truly insecure despot, he begins to fight. Just imagine if there had been Twitter back then… Herod learns from his minions that Jesus is to be found in Bethlehem. And so, in a touch of irony, it is Herod that puts the wise me back on the right path. Star back in sight off they go to meet Jesus. And this is the epiphany – the manifestation: God in human flesh is revealed.
The wise men, while they’re there, open their treasure chests and give gifts to the baby – gold, frankincense, and myrrh… notoriously inappropriate baby gifts… I tend to assume that the giving of the gifts was the point of the journey – “bearing gifts we traverse afar” as the hymn says… But in Matthew’s actual telling, it is worship that is the first purpose of the wise men. The gifts come almost as an afterthought.
The wise men go home, and the story gets darker. In our calendar the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents has already come and gone, but its proper place in the sequence of things
it has just been triggered. Herod, in paranoid rage and unsure which baby is the infant contender for his crown opts to protect his position by simply having all the little boys in Bethlehem slaughtered.
Mysterious, cold, paranoid, violent… these are the kinds of adjectives that Matthew’s story of the birth of Jesus brings to my mind. No cattle lowing… no shepherds proclaiming glory to God… no peace on earth… little if any goodwill toward anyone.
Matthew is so sparse with details that over the centuries we have had to invent them. So first these mysterious visitors acquire a sex – they become wise men; an occupation – they are astrologers or magicians; a number – there are three of them (because there
were 3 gifts); upward social mobility – they are kings; they get names – Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar; and perhaps most surprising – they acquire race, or least one does – one of them is black.
The story of Amahl and the Night Visitors is, for me, one of the most moving Christmas stories the Bible never told. As the kings, the night visitors of the title, make their way to Bethlehem, they stop at the home of Amahl – a physically disabled child. Amahl lives with his poor, widowed mother (who has no name). They are destitute… hardly able to feed themselves. They are in no position to entertain royalty. And yet it is their home in which Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar take shelter for the night.
Amahl emerges from the imagination of Gian Carlo Menotti. It was a made-for-television opera – back in the day when television had aspirations. And what do you know? When I dismissed Matthew as fodder for a Hallmark Christmas special, I was wrong – Amahl and the Night Visitors was, in fact, the very first Hallmark Christmas Special… way back in 1951. It’s not exactly Matthew. To be honest it’s not Matthew at all. But it is surely inspired by Matthew…
Amahl and the Night Visitors finds Menotti at his most romantic – the score is lush, the music beautiful. But one moment stands out in a particularly poignant way. When the kings have their first moment alone with the mother they ask if she has seen the child they seek (listen here). They describe him: His skin is the color of wheat, the color of dawn, his eyes are mild, and his hands are those of a king, as king he was born… And she answers yes, she has seen this child. It is her own child: Amahl. And then she laments that nobody will bring her child gifts, though he is sick, and poor, and hungry and cold…
I find that out of a made-for-television Hallmark special, a glimpse appears to me of what
Matthew may be telling me in his hard-to-warm-up-to Christmas story.
The kings are looking so hard for the Jesus they expect, that Jesus, in the form of Amahl, stands right in front of them and they cannot see him.
The good news for these mysterious wise travelers from a far is not that their journey was easy or direct, or that they were such gifted detectives – they needed the help of Herod after all. The good news is that they persevered until they saw God in human flesh.
It’s quite fun and heartwarming to locate ourselves in Luke’s Christmas story – we can be shepherds or cattle and sheep. For the lucky few perhaps Joseph or Mary.
Locating ourselves in Matthew’s Christmas story is more heart chilling, but a good exercise, nonetheless. I can find myself among the magi who wander and get so lost that they turn up in Luke… I can find myself among the greedy minions who cling to Herod for power, even when it calls for committing atrocities. And if I’m feeling very brave, I am Herod – who would rather commit unspeakable acts than tolerate Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, God with me.
Luke reminds us of how much we want Jesus in our lives. Matthew reminds us of how
far we will go to keep Jesus out. The revealing, the uncloaking, the epiphany is something we both desperately long for and furiously work to confound.
Herod is brutal and blunt in trying to keep Jesus out of his life. These days I’d like to say we are less brutal and more clever, though with events at our southern border, or in the townships of South Africa, or at any number of places around the globe where refugees are refused care, where strangers are rejected, I’m not sure we’ve come any distance at all from Herod.
Remember, it is in the face of those strangers that we are to meet Jesus, that we are to have our own Epiphany.
The joyful good news, the Gospel, is not that I’m prepared for Jesus in my life or that our world is in such a good place that Jesus will feel like he’s still in heaven.
The good news is that Jesus is revealed in our world just surely as Jesus was revealed to the Magi in the toxic, paranoid world of Herod. Jesus comes because of our need, not because of our desire and not because of our merit. Our world is often dark, unjust, cruel, and wicked… just the sort of world that needs Jesus.
And so, we pray come Lord Jesus, be revealed to us today because our need is as great as ever.
As the brothers of St Benedict’s Priory settle into Volmoed, part of that process is getting used to things. We desire to know Volmoed and its various communities and the Volmoed Community desires to know the Benedictine community in its midst. A little reflection on what monks might bring to Advent and Christmas may help.
Is there any difference in the way monks keep Christmas compared to other Christians? No and yes… No, in that monks are not more devout, or “better” in any way. And yes, in
that monks have the luxury of time for contemplation. While many struggle to find time for worship and prayer, we have it the other way round – we struggle to find time for cooking and laundry in a life filled with prayer and worship.
In the monastic worship tradition, the Magnificat, the song that Mary sings when she learns that she is to bear Christ into the world, is included in our evening worship – the service of Vespers. It is always there. Those familiar with the Anglican tradition of Evening Prayer or Choral Evensong will know that the Magnificat is a fixture there as well – because the Anglican Prayer Book tradition is built on the foundation of Benedictine worship.
Part of the fun of Monastic worship is the way pieces are introduced. We don’t just sing a psalm; it is introduced by an antiphon. In the same way, the Magnificat is introduced by an antiphon. The antiphon both sets up the music and provides some very brief reflection on the text.
In the season of Advent, as we long for the coming of Jesus, Mary’s song is particularly poignant. So over time monks developed seven particularly poignant antiphons for the Magnificat to lead up to Christmas; known as the Great O Antiphons. The larger church still shares these antiphons in the well-known hymn O Come Emanuel (which I see is even translated into Afrikaans). When we encounter these antiphons in hymn form, it is wonderful, but a few things get lost.
First, each of the antiphons gives one name used in Hebrew scripture to point to the
coming of Messiah. The antiphons use the references that the Jews used – Wisdom, Adonai (Lord), Root of Jesse, Key of David, Dayspring, King of all people, Emanuel. This comes through in the hymn, but monks (with apparently a lot of time to contemplate) had set these antiphons in an acrostic puzzle. The first letter of the God-reference in each antiphon, looked at backward, spells (in Latin) Ero Cras (tomorrow I come). This does not survive translation, but knowing it is there at some level adds greater urgency to these antiphons, and to our waiting.
Second, by parceling out these names day by day, we are given time to reflect on the significance of each. Each of these names has profound characteristics of God encoded within. Because these names are archetypes, each person can find multiple meanings and no two people need be the same. Just as God sees each of us as an individual, so each of these antiphons invites us deeper into our own relationship with God. But the monastic tradition that goes with this does not call us into private relationship, but personal relationship within the context of community.
What wisdom might this monastic expression bring to the Volmoed community? Let Advent do its work. As those faithful Jews waited and longed for the coming of Messiah, of Emanuel, so we wait and long for the coming of Jesus, God with us. What names do we give to this Jesus? What are we waiting for? And keep in mind that the God we want may differ from the God who comes to dwell with us. Blessings for Advent from the brothers at St Benedict’s Priory at Volmoed
Brothers from St Benedict’s Priory at Volmoed recently visited the Andrew Murray Centre of the Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa. It was a wonderful trip. First and foremost, the drive from Volmoed to Wellington is breath taking. This region of South
Africa is a mix of great, rocky mountains and lush, vineyard-filled valleys. We drove through many post cards…
There is something much more profound than just beauty going on at the Andrew Murray Centre. The Centre was built as a seminary for the Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa and that was its life – until the Dutch Reformed Church moved their seminary to be at Stellenbosch University. The Centre continued to be a training center for mission workers, but that dwindled over
time. As the use dwindled, the buildings and grounds were left for a period of near dormancy. Rising from that is the Andrew Murray Centre.
Murray himself is a fascinating figure. Some of the astute might be wondering how a good Scots name like Murray winds up on a bastion of the Dutch Reformed Church in South Africa… In the 1800s, the Dutch control of South Africa gave way to English domination – and for the English, that meant dominating the tribal peoples AND the Dutch. To tweak the Dutch, the English stopped the movement of clergy from The Netherlands to South Africa. Dry up the clergy, dry up the Church, dry up the spirit of the people seems to have been the plan.
The leaders of the Dutch Reformed Church were a resourceful bunch. They turned to Scotland, always interested in tweaking the English, to import clergy. These were theologically well-trained folks in a sympathetic reformed tradition. The Rev. Andrew Murray, senior, came with his family to South Africa. His son, Andrew, became a major visionary leader within the Dutch Reformed Church. It appears that the English attempt to strangle the Dutch Reformed Church succeeded in giving it one of its greatest leaders and ushering in its richest epoch.
Through efforts of leaders like Andrew Murray, seminary education at a high level
became standard in South Africa so there was no need to send folks to Europe – which was an arduous journey back in the day. The foundations for the Murray Centre were figuratively and literally laid in this time.
At the Murray Centre there are several wonderful original buildings that have been inventively renovated for this new purpose. A stable has been renovated into a chapel – the symbolism of this deserves a great deal of reflection… And the house built as Andrew Murray’s residence is now a
center of instruction.
Andrew Murray would be a significant figure if this were all there was to his story, but it’s not. Murray, it appears, was that thing that the reformed tradition in its various expressions, is quite uncomfortable with – he was a mystic. This puts him in good stead – Luther was, arguably, a mystic. Charles Wesley was certainly a mystic. Mother Ann Lee of the Quaker Movement was a great mystic. Still, in the reformation world, it’s a bit uncomfortable to talk too much about mysticism.
But Andrew Murray was intrigued enough with mysticism that he named his house
Clairvaux. What a statement. This name still remains on the building – etched in stone above the gate. This is the instruction building of the Murray Centre, so anybody participating in a program at the Murray Centre will be steeped, perhaps subliminally or more overtly, in Murray’s mysticism.
I could not help but focus on the notion of death and resurrection embodied by the Murray Centre. During the 19th and first half of the 20th centuries, the Centre had a purpose within a church, the Dutch Reformed Church, which also had a purpose. But as the disease of Apartheid took root in South Africa, the Dutch Reformed Church took its place on the wrong side of history. At some point (the history is all easily available) new visionaries of the church began to call for change, and the Dutch Reformed Church (along with many other denominations) began a process of repentance and amendment.
Still, Apartheid and its aftermath have taken their toll – with the result that the Dutch Reformed Church is not the powerful institution it once was.
So, the visionary move of the Andrew Murray Centre is all the more astounding. It is a
collective dedication to the idea that we cannot continue on or near the path we have been on. Jesus calls us to transformation of life, to fundamental and existential change; Not just a different path, but a different way of travelling.
I left the Centre feeling really motivated and excited, not because of something I could see, but because of something I could sense and yet not see. The mystical spirit of Andrew Murray has a hand in things. And the Murray Centre is a thin place where something new is working to enter our world.
At first glance this short parable from the Gospel according to Luke seems like a rare treat – a parable that is short, clear, and easy to grasp… but things are not always what they appear to be at first glance…
We have these two different people in prayer – a tax collector and a pharisee. And we’re sort of conditioned to hear these two characters as two stereotypes – one good and one sinister…
For the crowd gathered with Jesus, they might have heard two stereotypes as well – one good and one sinister. That would be the Pharisee as good and the tax collector as sinister. We tend to hear it the other way around with the pharisee as sinister – because when Pharisees turn up in the Gospels, they usually to cause trouble.
In Jesus time, tax collectors really were quite menacing people. Whatever else we may think of SARS, we don’t tend to think they are menacing. But in Jesus day, tax collectors worked, more or less, on commission. They collected money, took their portion off the top, and the rest went to the government. The incentive to “over-collect” is more than obvious. The incentive to use any means necessary is also obvious. Tax collectors were in the league of loan sharks, repo men, and bounty hunters.
Pharisees, on the other hand, were really among the most admired religious folks of their day. They were faithful and thoroughly devout. Today’s equivalent might be the leaders of the churches. They would be on administrative boards and leading prayers. They would be on Altar Guilds and Mother’s Unions. They knew the expectations and the guidelines of the tradition and were thoroughly devoted to them.
Jesus frequently has a hard time with Pharisees. But it’s not because they were bad or ill-intentioned people. The Pharisees were especially devoted to the way things were and had always been… And Jesus, to be honest, was a troublemaker. Jesus still is…
But in this little parable we have the Pharisee and the Tax Collector meeting up in worship. Their posture and their prayer tell quite a story. The Pharisee is described as standing by himself. Luke doesn’t say exactly where he stood, but we can guess it was in a prominent place. The tax collector, meanwhile, stands out of the way… eyes cast down… avoiding attention.
And then there are the prayers. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people” as
opposed to “God, be merciful to me, a sinner”. The Pharisee drips so much condescension we have to be careful not to step in the puddles. The tax collector epitomizes humility.
The parable might be telling us that our preconceptions of who is good and who is bad are unreliable.
This is an important lesson for our time. We are conditioned to think that those who are wealthy and comfortable must be doing something right – must be worthy of admiration and emulation. Sometimes they are… but not always. And sometimes those on the outcast side of society are worthy of admiration and emulation, but not always.
It’s easy to think in terms of stereotypes because they require no thought. They are quick. They don’t bog down in details. But in this short little parable, Jesus takes two stereotypes of his day – tax collector and pharisee – and scrambles them. By now, we have adopted Jesus’ scrambled versions as standard. But to grapple with this parable we have to re-scramble our stereotypes.
For the tax collector, the prayer is very simple. God be merciful to me, a sinner. If we were in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, we would hear this as the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” This prayer is not as common in the western tradition, but it is very much part of it. This prayer of the tax collector is one of the foundations of the Jesus Prayer.
The power of the Jesus Prayer, of the tax collector’s prayer, lies in its simple, brief, and direct nature. Proverbs tells us, where there are many words, sin is not lacking…
For the Pharisee, who does not seem to have gotten the memo about too many words, it’s a different story. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people…” He’s already passed the tax collector in length… And then he has to elaborate on just who it is that he is not like… more words… We next hear the things he admires most… about himself. How he fasts, how he tithes. He doesn’t have to say it, but we can see that pride is a big part of his prayer life.
Jesus has slipped in a subtle little note – our Pharisee tithes more than the law demands; a tenth of all his income when the expectation was that only part of his income needed to be tithed. And he fasts more than necessary. Fasting weekly was expected, but for our friend its twice a week.
Learned theologians would describe these as works of “supererogation” – going above and beyond the call of duty. Jesus seems to endorse this when he tells us to go the extra mile, or if someone needs our shirt to give a jacket as well. But Jesus is not promoting supererogation.
My works of supererogation are for my own benefit – a sort of storing up of divine brownie points, if you will. The Pharisee seems to expect something in return for his virtuous behavior. But in just the previous chapter of Luke, Jesus has told us that when we have done what is asked, we are to stop and say we are unworthy servants. We have done our duty. The Pharisee seems to be asserting just how very worthy he is.
We don’t know much about the tax collector, but I wonder if his great humility in prayer translates into action in his profession. Or could his great self-deprecation in prayer based on his awareness that he is a total scoundrel in his work.
It’s easy to be critical of the Pharisee’s arrogance, but the bigger issue in his prayer life is his total lack of compassion. And while the Tax Collector seems to have some sense of sorrow which could be part of compassion, we just don’t know.
So how does this inform our prayer these days?
Few of us would pray something like the Pharisee – thank God I’m not like those people. But if I’m being honest, I have to acknowledge that I’m not immune to that prayer. When I see Nyanga* on the way to the airport, the squalor and danger, I am glad that I don’t live like that. And I don’t want to single out South Africa – parts of the US are every bit as violent and squalid.
In the US, we are particularly prone to an ugly, biblical twist of blaming those in desperate circumstances for their circumstances – just as those helpful neighbors of Job who were quick to suggest that his own sin must have brought on his misery… It’s as if we were saying that the residents of Nyanga choose to live in danger, they should just make a different choice…
To pray in a meaningful way is to pray honestly. There is certainly no use in lying to
God… And so, perhaps, to start near where the Pharisee starts – thank God I am richly blessed… perhaps it’s a good place to start.
But then I must move to compassion. Throughout the Gospels Jesus seems to always move in the direction of compassion. Whether he’s facing the rich young man who can’t walk away from wealth or looking at the crowd who have played a major part in crucifying him, compassion is the direction in which Jesus moves. Compassion, like justice, is the expression of love.
The founder of the Order of the Holy Cross, James Huntington, teaches us that love must act. God loves the world – and so must we. That love must lead us to action. George MacLeod, founder of the Iona Community, felt that prayer that did not lead to action is not just empty, it is heresy.
Compassion, and its close friend justice, are what our world desperately needs. We pray that God will order our steps on the path of justice and loving compassion.
People in the US may not be familiar with Nyanga. It is one of the oldest townships in Cape Town, established in the 1940s as Apartheid was ramping up. It is directly across the N2 Highway from Cape Town International Airport – so just about everyone flying into the Western Cape will drive past this township. It is home to approximately 60 thousand people, some in nice houses, but many in what is euphemistically called “informal” housing – as you see in the picture. Its distinction is being, perhaps, the most dangerous place in South Africa. It propels Cape Town to top 20 list of murderous cities worldwide. And yet – it is home for many people.