I remember a bumper sticker back in the 80’s that said, “Wise men still adore him.” [That was before most churches went full-throttle with inclusive language.] I liked the idea – that the followers of Christ in every age are wise to the degree that their lives give glory to God. The wisdom we revere in the magi can still be seen among us in this time, in this place.
When I was a Benedictine sister I studied the desert spirituality that emerged in the 4th century primarily in Egypt. Women and men of great faith went to live on the periphery of society to listen for the voice of God, to pray without ceasing and live a life worthy of their baptism. Young ones would seek out a mentor from among them and ask for word – spiritual advice. The “sayings” of the desert mothers and fathers have remained with us and you can find them now categorized by author or theme.
I have always kept a running list of my ammas – the women in my life who have shown me a way to God. I have abbas, too, most notably my father who, in his own seeking, has led me numerous times to the Christ child. I’m beginning to see a pattern in their lives – what “wise” looks like. Here are a few characteristics of people on whose wisdom I depend:
they live an undivided life – “what you see is what you get”
they follow the star – no matter where it leads
they have met a few Herods and have learned to move beyond fear
they understand that they are gifted – false modesty is no longer needed to appear humble. They understand that their gifts have meaning and purpose in the Kingdom of God.
they understand that they are broken – most of the wounds have been washed and bound up, but pain is no longer an enemy. Failings, sins, losses – they have become teachers.
they find Christ on a regular basis in very surprising places and rest there a while – on their knees.
they get that the star will never fail them if they pay attention.
they are not afraid to ask for direction – they seek it along the way.
they are open to change – able to embrace “plan B” when a new road home is needed.
they trust the promises of God – even and especially when things seem hopeless.
they share what they have been given – what they know of his coming in their own lives.
How many wise ones do you know? On this great feast of Epiphany let us thank God for the faithful men and women who point to the light and lead us to the manger time and time again.
[This sermon was given this morning at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA. Lent 1, Year A]
The Temptation in the wilderness is always the Gospel reading on the first Sunday of Lent. I brought several questions with me as I opened the lectionary to prepare this sermon. What can Jesus’ experience of temptation teach us about being human? Does temptation have a redemptive purpose in our spiritual journey? What do we do when we find ourselves on the verge of spiritual failure?
Temptation is serious business, but in our culture we use temptation to sell things in the media. Commercials show women on a diet plastered to the window of a bakery. Men and women stare at nameless bodies and grapple with sexual desire. One of the worst commercials shows a grown man hiding behind the kitchen counter on Thanksgiving because he can’t wait to taste the stuffing! All of these media vignettes do a disservice to temptation – to the pain it brings and to the power it has over us in our most vulnerable moments.
I think people who suffer from the disease of addiction could tell us a deeper truth about temptation. When my Dad came out of a detox program after 40 years of drinking scotch, I sent him this passage from The Letter to the Hebrews.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.”
I thought it would help him to remember that Jesus gets it – Jesus gets how hard it is to be human. The truth is, it helped me, too. My Dad has been sober 14 years, 2 months and 3 days. But he lives every day with the monster under the bed. It is his complete dependence on God’s grace that keeps him strong. Back to our gospel…
I’m going to give you a biblical “spoiler alert.” This vivid narrative “telescopes” into one story many of the temptations Jesus experienced throughout his life.[1] The lure of power, the seduction of fame and the immediate satisfaction of every bodily desire – these aren’t just Jesus’ “issues.” These things are the stuff of our struggles. And, lest we take this story literally, as the Hollywood filmmakers do, New Testament scholar, William Barclay, insists that this testing was an interior experience. Isn’t that where our real battles happen – in the mind, in the soul? Professor Barclay believes we must approach this Gospel on bended knee for in the telling of this experience to his disciples, Jesus is letting is into his inner life, offering us his sufferings and struggles so that we might be strengthened in our own.[2]
So, what is it with God and temptation? It was the Spirit who led Jesus into the wilderness. No sooner had he emerged from the waters of the Jordan than he found himself engaged in a spiritual battle for 40 days and nights. [Yes, that number is powerfully symbolic here. Jesus is the new Israel. Where the Chosen rebelled in the desert, Jesus gives himself to the Father in trust.] But I still have this question about the purpose of trials and tests. It can’t be that God sends us trials for no good reason – like some divine version of the “Hunger Games.” No. William Barclay explains the purpose of our struggles. “Just as metal has to be tested far beyond any stress and strain that it will ever be called upon to bear, before it can be put to any useful purpose, so people have to be tested before God can use them for his purposes.”[3]
The real temptation for Jesus and for us is to give up on the promises of God. The real temptation is give up on ourselves – to forget that we are precious to God, loved beyond measure.
Life is so hard sometimes. The pain that comes to us just because we are human can push us over some threshold into darkness. In that vulnerable place the voices we hear are not always our own. Now, I’m not big on the devil. We personify evil to make it more understandable. The truth is we don’t understand the presence of evil in the world, but we feel it – we know that something or someone rejoices when we give up on God. So, what are we supposed to do when we feel weak, vulnerable and overwhelmed by fear or hopelessness?
The answer is right here in the gospel. It is so obvious that we can miss it. Jesus won the battle within him by using the power of the Word of God. Jesus counters every threat with a verse from Holy Scripture.
This antidote to spiritual illness has been used for centuries. The early monastic teachers – Evagrius and John Cassian – taught their followers to banish temptation with God’s Word. Evagrius of Pontus was the first to talk about the “8 thoughts” that torment the soul. John Cassian wrote about how these vices could be vanquished by practicing the opposite virtue. But prayer was the essential weapon of choice for both teachers. Cassian loved the verse from Psalm 69: “God, come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me.”
Here we have the pattern for victory. Pray. Pray the most powerful words you know. And tell the devil to go to Hell! It worked for Jesus and it will work for us. And, if we “fail” the test, what then? That’s when the reading from Genesis becomes a gift. God didn’t give up on “Adam” and “Eve.” Far from it! Perhaps, their failure was more of a gift to us for in it, God began the plan for our salvation in Christ. God came to us in flesh and blood so that we could know with certainty that God’s love is deeper, stronger and more powerful than any failure we can come up with. We are loved that much! St. Paul really got it.
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.”
[1] Barbara E. Reid, O.P., New Collegevillle Bible Commentary: New Testament “Matthew,” (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2008.) 17.
[2] William Barclay, The Gospel of Matthew Volume 1 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1975 & 2001.) 76.
When my brother’s first-born came to the monastery as a toddler, he wobbled into the Dining Room and saw the cart with all the breakfast cereal on it. There had to have been half a dozen large plastic containers filled with different types – flakes, granola, some kind of bran. And then he saw it, “Look Mama…O’s!” The little guy had never seen so many Cheerios in his life. I’ll never forget the way his eyes sparkled. Pointing one tiny finger at the mother-load of snacking pleasure, he embodied “joy” – the full-body experience of delight. “Look, Mama…O’s!
His childlike excitement mirrors my own when we reach December 17th – the “O Antiphons.” These antiphons help us to with our countdown to the feast of the Nativity. Each evening as the sun sets, the antiphon is sung with the Magnificat – the traditional evening hymn found in Luke’s infancy narrative. Each night – for seven days – we proclaim a new title for our little Messiah and bid him “come.”
December 17
O Wisdom of our God Most High,
guiding creation with power and love:
come to teach us the path of knowledge!
December 18
O Adonai,
giver of the Law to Moses on Sinai:
come to rescue us with your mighty power!
December 19
O Root of Jesse’s stem,
sign of God’s love for all his people:
come to save us without delay!
December 20
O Key of David,
opening the gates of God’s eternal Kingdom:
come and free the prisoners of darkness!
December 21
O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light, sun of justice:
come and shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the
shadow of death.
December 22
O King of all nations and keystone of the Church:
come and save man, whom you formed from the dust!
December 23
O Emmanuel, our King and Giver of Law:
come to save us, Lord our God!
Today, we sing, “O Adonai,” which translates to Lord or leader. It was the name the Israelites used for God. [The name of God given to Moses before the burning bush – YHWH – is too sacred to speak aloud.] To call the Messiah “Adonai” is to claim divine nature itself. The God Moses encountered – the great “I AM” – is the God who chooses our flesh and bone – makes the death-defying leap into our skin at Bethlehem.
After the Messiah is named – given a title that links his person to the promise to Israel – we bid him “come.” “Come rescue us with your mighty power!” The invitation is critical. We must open the door of the heart. Christ will knock, most certainly, but he will never break it down. Our brave statement of faith in him demands brave action. “Come…”
The “O Antiphons” give us the heads-up. Christmas is coming…Christ is coming…here and now, and, at the last. They offer us the opportunity for meditation, for gratitude and for a glimpse of the big picture of salvation – God’s work in time for our blessing. If you have never prayed these antiphons before, welcome them into your Christmas preparations. Read them each evening with Mary’s song. Look for symbols of the antiphons or draw them yourself if art is your way to God. Search iTunes for sung versions of the “O Antiphons” from different monasteries. [It was in a Benedictine monastery that the antiphons were listed backwards so that the first letter of each would vertically spell, ero cras – Latin for, “Tomorrow, I will come.”] Integrating these ancient prayers into your devotions will add to your Christmas joy. Then, year after year, you will await their coming as I do with holy longing. “Look…the O’s!”
Merton’s hermitage on the grounds of the Abbey of Gethsemani
I’m reading Thomas Merton’s journals – backwards. [The longer we live, the wiser we become!] In Volume Six:Learning to Love, we find Merton established in total solitude. Given permission to live as a hermit, he lives alone in a small house in the woods. Merton’s life on the periphery of monastic community is fascinating to me. It seems lonely at first glance. Yet, in the midst of his occasional rants about his abbot or his self-concerned struggles as a writer, Thomas experiences moments of incredible clarity. Merton’s humanity makes me love him. Like Henri Nouwen Merton struggles openly with crankiness, self-pity and the longing to be loved. Amid sentence after sentence of ego-related stuff, there are chunks of wonder and grace. I am especially moved by his relationship to the nature – how creation is his companion and, at times, his spiritual director.
“The morning got more and more brilliant and I could feel the brilliancy of it getting into my own blood. Living so close to the cold, you feel the spring. And this is man’s mission! The earth cannot feel all this. We must. But living away from the earth and the trees we fail them. We are absent from the wedding feast.”
Hermits have existed in the Church from the beginning – from the desert abbas and ammas, to medieval anchoresses attached to local churches. The desire to go into solitude must come from God. For a few it is a call that lasts for years or even decades. For the rest of us who are called to live exclusively in Christian communities – the family, the local church, and even religious life – the call to solitude comes infrequently. Sometimes, we are not even aware that we are being “called.” Something happens and we find ourselves utterly alone:
– your spouse goes on a business trip and suddenly there are no expectations
– the kids go back to school and the mornings become quiet again
– a parent becomes critically ill and we sit in silence at the bedside
– we get “stuck” somewhere and spend an unplanned night alone in a motel
Illness became my “hermitage” recently. The weeks before surgery and after, were very hard but rich. Stripped of the ability to do, I was forced to just be. Although much of my recollection was infused with painkiller, God visited me when I was sick and held me close.
As we progress in the spiritual life, we make peace with our frailties and befriend our ego-centered failures. We get brave and seek out this God who dwells in silence. Chance visits to the “hermitage” become intentional. We make a retreat day at a monastery. We go on a pilgrimage to Iona or walk the way of St. James in Spain. We embrace the desire to be in silence because we come to recognize the power of being in God’s presence – without agenda, without fear, without our “to do” list. These experiences don’t turn us into saints, but do move us along in the river of God’s love and make us more attentive to the priority of love in our daily lives.
It is the feast of Saint Benedict – the anniversary of his entrance into eternal life. I have always loved March 21st for several reasons. There is a reality attached to the celebration. Benedict died among his brothers – a “happy death,” tradition tells us. Most artistic representations show the saint standing with arms outstretched, breathing his last after receiving the Body of Christ. Not a typical death-bed scene but powerful in its insistence that death is not the enemy but a doorway to the divine Presence. Today, Benedictine women and men all over the world engage in the powerful remembering that can only happen in liturgy – anamnesis. This kind of recall is not merely a retelling of a story but an opportunity to relive it in the present moment. Each sister and brother engages the story with his/her own end in mind. But Benedict belongs to all Christians. In contemplating his passing, we can face our own in faith. We affirm that our faithfulness will yield the vision of God in glory – that we, too, will take our places in the communion of saints. Benedict’s story breeds hope in the promise. The moment of death is rarely celebrated with such audacious joy.
I love this feast for another more personal reason. It is my Dad’s favorite. When he decided to become a Benedictine Oblate of the monastery I entered, it touched me deeply. It was all his idea – part of his journey to Christ. Early on in his formation he would travel from Florida monthly to the monastery. It gave us quality time together and the sisters spoiled him rotten with affection and care. One day we sat quietly together on a couch near the entrance to the monastery. Out of nowhere he told me that his favorite window in the chapel was the one depicting Benedict’s death. Water filled his eyes and a lump formed in his throat as he spoke of the power of that image. He told me that’s what he wants most of all – that happy death of total abandonment into God’s care. Just when I thought I couldn’t love him more…
This is a bittersweet day for me. I will call Dad and wish my favorite oblate a “happy feast.” We have always connected on these monastic holy days. But this time I will call him from outside the walls of the monastery. I am exactly where I feel God wants me. Marriage is the greatest happiness I’ve ever known but I will always be Benedictine in my heart. The monk is a universal archetype. The identity is not like a layer of clothing one removes. A decade of life shared cannot be ended with the stroke of a pen or removing a ring from your finger. The monastic identity is more complex – more innate. I need to do some more thinking and writing around this reality. Here’s what I do know. The last ten years of my life were not a mistake. I wouldn’t know God as I do now without the experience of monastic life – the prayer, community and work. I wouldn’t know myself as I do, either. Monastic life has “earthed” me – grounded me in the reality that I am both broken and beautiful. Monastic life, if we allow it, eventually strips away all illusions of perfection and the despair that comes in the full recognition of our failures. I learned to be myself there – to let my gifts be nurtured and to embrace work as holy in my life. And, I became strong – strong enough to say, “I have to go.”
This morning I miss them – my sisters – and remember the joy of this day together. But I don’t miss the life. Marriage is the new context of my prayer and work. The smallest community of persons is right for me. The loneliness that hummed beneath the surface of my life is gone now. But it’s right, I think, to feel conflicted today given the investment of self that monastic life requires. Wherever we leave our love is holy ground. And love is never wasted. I can own the love I have for the community and at the same time be certain that things are as they should be – all around, I think. I am much more comfortable with this paradox now. I wish only blessings this day for the women who were my sisters, for their oblates and for all who pursue monastic life. The road that led me to the monastery is the same road that led me from it. It is the path God has laid out for me in Christ– a road that has been rough in places and smooth in others. But it is my road to walk in faith. Today, I thank God for Saint Benedict who will always be my friend and spiritual father. May he guide my steps always – even unto everlasting life (RB 72.12).
God is Always More 